Miseria
by Hiyume
Summary: AC2 Venice was once my paradise, and now it is my hell. The fifteenth century… my Dark Age. This is the tragedy that led me to my reason for life, and to my very end. Some EzioxOC, but it's not a main theme.
1. Prologue

**A/U: **Please don't throw eggs at me! –hides- I'm SO sorry to everyone who's waiting for the completion of my other fanfic, which I haven't updated in four months, but I swear it's not because of procrastination! Just after updating the last chapter of it, I had surgery for a burst appendix and was in the hospital for about a week and a half, and then spent the rest of my free summer time preparing a cosplay for FanExpo Canada, and then SCHOOL started, and lord knows homework is killing my brain –stabs 11th grade-

Plus I've had a bazillion obsessions in the passed months, that including Assassin's Creed 2, which I just finished a few days back (And I started a new file because I LOVE ITTT)

So, people who have me on Story Alert, please don't get mad. This is simply a story I'm writing to get my inspiration going again, and those who don't know who I am and are just viewing this because it's AC2… ignore me and read xD;

* * *

This corrupt world, filled with many people… or should I say animals? The snobs that we call the upper-class of the city, those stupid guards that we must trust but who can be told to do anything with the drop of a few coins, the princes, kings, and ravenous rich folk that force their shitty rules upon us day by day by DAY, not giving a flying hell for what they call "their people"… then there are the middle-class and the poor; what I used to be and what I am now.

We are the true people among these greedy savages. The middle-class, against their hopes of doing well, will one day perish, and the poor, who have already met their doom and simply attempt to find a reason to live as they fight for survival each day, threatened by starvation… or simply the rejection of the gluttonous beasts. Though, this is not what defines the both of them, not in my eyes. It is how awake they are to reality; what goes on behind walls, and awaits them in their future.

It is madness. Everything is ruled by the Seven Great Sins and nothing else. The good men and women are overpowered by the shadows of these sins; greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, pride, and sloth. No matter what they, the distorted minds of society, do, they know well that it is their own selfishness that drives their actions.

Those guards… those damned GUARDS! Their greed for money… MORE money… no matter the task, they want it, whether it is killing an innocent child or twenty of them. Nothing stops their spears or their swords or their arrows. I know this. I know this well. Venice was once my paradise, and now it is my hell. The fifteenth century… _my _Dark Age.

My name, given to me as some sick joke by what God may be out there, if any, is Lucrezia Sarta. This is the tragedy that led me to my reason for life, and to my very end.

My paradise.

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**A/U: **So? Okay so far? I know it's pretty lame, considering it's just an OC so far, but it's simply a Prologue introducing the character's viewpoint of Venice. The rest of the fanfic (About 2 chapters) will be in third person, or "God's Perspective". (Also, I know the OC is giving that essence of an emo Mary Sue, but I swear she's not one of them! D: I want to BURN Mary Sues, so I won't be a hypocrite and make one of my own.)

Anyway, give me your thoughts, and please, no flaming (especially about my other fic). I don't mind constructive criticism, for that is always welcome to an aspiring novelist. Improving is first on my list, and every tip is welcome!

(And just incase someone didn't get the last bit, Lucrezia means "wealthy" and Sarta means "Tailor", as in occupation-wise.)


	2. Apples

**A/U: **Bleh, I was planning on updating this like a week ago, but school caught up to me again, and… um… I was busy going through AC2 for the 2nd and 3rd times… -shot-

SO, anyway, I actually decided to do a little research before writing this whole thing. I went and looked up "Mary-Sue" on Urban Dictionary, just so I could make sure mine was not one, and the gist of what I understand is that it's an OC that represents the author, and the story is for the author's own 'pleasures'. Okay. Ew. First off, at the end of the Prologue, I put "Tragedy", which means, of course, my OC dies. No, not a spoiler, because when tragedy is mentioned, you're supposed to know.

Do I want to die? No. No I don't D: Also, she's not emo, a prep, the STAR 'look-at-me' person, and… well, whatever else a Mary-Sue consists of. The only thing Mary-Sue I can see about her is that she has a tragic past, but hey, in reality, some people do and are not little whiny biatches. :I

I also did a little research on the Renaissance. I took out about 4 books about the 1400s and am currently finishing up the third one. So, if there are any errors in my portrayal of culture or anything, just tell me, incase I haven't read enough xD;

Also, try not to get bored while reading. If you're waiting for the part where Ezio enters, well… that's about three quarters in. –killed- I really wanted to develop my OC, as I will have to get used to doing this once I write novels and stuff (Hopefullyyyy)

And on a last note, I've decided to write the whole fanfic in first person. I need to try new techniques, so tell me what you think!

(Also, there are a bunch of symbols here, try and spot them xD)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed 2 or any of its characters… -pets Ezio statue- Lolwut.

0oooooooooooooooooooo0

It was 1480, as I recall, when my story began. I was seventeen at the time-at an age that my mother believed was the time to find my "true love", so she sent me out into the streets to help with the family business more often.

My family, if you couldn't tell by my surname, came from a long line of tailors, starting with a simple servant girl from Ireland. From the stories passed down through many generations, she'd been the illegitimate child of a nobleman and a nun (Whether it was of her choice or rape, no one knows), and so, lacking a surname, the man that had bought her once she was of working age (Some Italian nobleman that was fond of traveling was what I was told) gave her the simple title of "Sarta", as she'd had a strange talent with a needle and thread. She later had an illegitimate child--by choice--and, not wanting to give up her son, she gave him her surname and took care of him until he was sold in Italy.

It was somewhere between then and now that my family's tailor business had started in Venice, as well as the reason for my peculiar orange hair and green eyes. It shocked my parents a great deal when they saw this, seeing as our Irish heritage was so far gone. It was by pure luck that I happened to take on these traits. Well, misfortune, in my opinion, for wherever I went, men and women alike gawked at me as though I was some sort of object that was incomprehensible to the human mind. Hah! My mother wanted me to find a man and yet every one in existence was afraid that they would burn to death by just standing a few inches too close.

Enough with that. I meant to go on to say that the business was from my father's side, despite the fact that he'd become a doctor. The shop had been given to my uncle, who, unfortunately, had died of a terrible illness. I remember my father refusing to work for a while afterwards, not believing in his abilities because he hadn't been able to save his own brother.

So, still mourning but somewhat excited, we took over the business. Our finances were going downhill, especially after the birth of Dante, my younger brother, now just six years old, and just the fact that Enrico, my older brother, could not find work… we could not live off of just my father's pay, so the death of my uncle, though this thinking is somewhat morbid, saved us from certain poverty.

We all worked then, to keep the family together. Enrico, three years older than I, sat at the front desk of the store and was the one to listen to people's orders, take the clothing that was to be dyed or modified, and bring it to the backroom, where my mother and I would work. Dante was able to help here and there, since he was no longer a complete infant. Six hands were better than four, of course.

I was often told that I'd not only inherited the appearance of my ancestor, but her talent as well. My father would often sit down with Enrico and I and tell us the basics of medicines and healing, incase he was not around.

Little did I realize that these skills would be the very reason I would survive for as long as I did.

---------

"Lucrezia, we don't have much blue dye left, and the water we have is getting dirty. Would you mind fetching some from the dealer?" I knew this was far from a question, and it was expected often from me at this time of the year.

Our little shop resided near the border of the San Polo and Dorsoduro districts, just west of the Canal Grande, and since the Carnevale was fast approaching, many men and women flocked at Tailor store windows to get the most fancy colors and designs in Venice so that they were noticed amongst the vast amounts of masked faces. As a tailor, I worked to promote our services, often sent out by my family wearing an assortment of dresses. While most could mistake me as a simple noblewoman on a stroll, it was my hair that signified my occupation. My appearance was well known in the southern parts of Venice by now, seeing as it had been about half a decade since I'd started this promotional route. If there were foreigners or simply people who resided in the northern parts of Venice, they would ask others who I was if my dress caught their attention. This had been how our shop silently became the most well known tailor business in southern Venice.

I said goodbye to my mother quickly, grabbing my own hand-made dress for this year and slipping it over my kirtle before exiting the backroom, ducats tucked safely in a pouch out of sight. I smiled gently at Enrico when he turned to see who had left the backroom. "How's business doing today?" I asked simply.

"Shouldn't you know? You and mother are the ones doing the work." He grinned. I pointed out obviously that he never mentioned how much we were paid for each task and the tips that were given for our work. I was a bit confused for a second when he looked around, as if making sure no one was looking. He pulled out a small chest from under the counter. I heard coins clink together as he put his hand inside it, and after getting what he wanted, he put the chest back in it's place, walked closer to me and took my hand. I felt the cold sensation of coins against my palm, and when I took my hand from his, I found a sum of 100 shining ducats resting against my fingers.

"Enrico, this is…!" He shushed me before I could finish.

"The rich have been very generous to us this week, and I think it is because your skills as a tailor are still growing. This is your reward, sister. Go and treat yourself." I gave him a peck on the cheek and left, looking back to wave with a smile. He waved back, and didn't stop until I turned a corner.

It didn't take too long for the women to eye my dress with greed or jealousy. I'd tried a different approach this year--risking the line between civil clothing and offensive. It was not often that a woman would show much of her kirtle; maybe the gown would have short sleeves, with the kirtle's long ones reaching the wrists, and nothing more than this. This year, I had deliberately cut out a quarter of the left side of my dress. A full leg's length of the kirtle was visible, the material itself being a scarlet red, when usually it was white or a tan color. The gown and shoes were a very Venetian blue; very pale, almost verging on white. The reason for this was to keep some of the style that signified it as Venetian clothing. I added a belt-like design around the waist, which was multiple shades of green, the design trailing down the side of the dress that was still intact. And of course, the sleeves were short, the scarlet kirtle's sleeves reaching down to my wrists. The neckline of the dress was low, but still civilized.

Though, the design of the dress was not what I valued the most. It was the hair ornament that I always had with me. It was shaped like a comb, and I often used it to keep the front of my hair on the back of my head. A family heirloom, my father told me. He said the gold form and the small rubies that dotted the design were almost as valuable as our household (The tailor shop) itself. I treasured it, only willing to wear it in places I knew, and only during the Carnevale. This was out of caution, and the fact that 'laws' stated that it was forbidden for middleclass men and women to wear valuable material, whether it be silk or expensive jewelry.

It was not a long walk from the store that I called home to get to the market where our dealer resided. I took the supplies quickly, sighing after realizing that I'd have to come back for the rest, and headed back the way I came. I never lingered in the market, for our dealer was rather strange. Never did I speak a word in front of him. He looked like a thug, with his sweaty brow and wide, threatening stance. He was content with my silence, I suppose, for he didn't bother striking up a conversation.

I stopped suddenly when turning the corner of an ally that lead to my street. It was often that I took this route, but the air felt… heavy somehow, as if some invisible force kept me from going forward.

"They're disrupting our business…"

I stepped back into the ally and pressed myself against the wall, realizing to whom this voice belonged. It was the threatening whispers of the clerk who manned another Tailor shop, just down the street from our own. The people who owned this large business (Twice the size of our shack) were those of the rich, using their sales as a way of gaining money they didn't need. It wasn't surprising that they had opened their store just three years ago, when our own finances began to increase. It was obvious in my eyes that they had been planning to outsell us, but despite their attempts, quality ruled over quantity.

I glanced around the corner to peek at the conversation between the two, immediately disappearing back behind the wall, as I realized I was eavesdropping on some sort of plan. This was not a man, but _men _the clerk spoke with.

Guards to be precise.

"Excuse… selling poison instead of medicine… whole family is conspiring… Take. Them. Out."

This was the gist of what I heard, as it was hard to hear over the crowds that roamed the streets of Venice. My heart began to quicken. _Medicine. _My father was a doctor… could they mean him? My family… They were plotting against them!

"Here are 1000 ducats. Now go and do as I told you!" Those were his last words as I heard the clinking of money. The guards ran passed the corridor before I could stop them. I followed them, but from afar so as to not get their attention. They reached the end of the street, and I froze. My eyes were wide, and blood seemed to seep through my fingertips, leaving me cold and dumb. They stopped, as I had guessed, in front of Enrico, just as he took in an order.

Their words were muffled, but from what my ears could register, they were using the lie that my father was selling poison as medicine. I strained to hear the confused protests of my brother, and before more than ten words slipped from his lips, he was silenced.

My throat was dry and I couldn't scream. All my body would allow was for my blinded eyes to stare as my brother was impaled by a guard's sword, his blood spilling over the counter as his body fell limp against the blade. The guard pulled it from his chest, and he fell, out of my sight.

This was a dream, wasn't it? Just a stupid nightmare! I tried to blink myself awake, but my eyes would not shut.

At that moment, my father walked down the other side of the street. He protested, yelled for Enrico, and was slaughtered before a bigger fuss was created. I could feel my breath becoming erratic now. If this was a dream, why couldn't I wake up? Why couldn't I move my body and control what the hell was going on? I felt like I was trapped in someone else, forced to watch this tragedy with my own family as the players.

I suddenly came back to reality when two of the guards that had disappeared into the back emerged. Their hands were not empty.

First was my mother, killed the same way as Enrico, and then… Then there was Dante… His throat was sliced… They let him choke and suffer! A child of only six years!

I screamed. I screamed as loud as my body would permit. It was the scream I'd been holding in for those passed few minutes. I dropped the box of materials and clamped my hands over my mouth, but it was too late. They saw me. One pointed, and they all came running.

I don't know how I got away, but I did. Whether they lost me or didn't bother following me, I couldn't tell. All I did was run. Why did I run? I don't know. At that time, it seemed as though my life was over. My family was dead, and I had nothing except for money that Enrico had given me… the last time I ever saw him… There wasn't any possibility of me starting over, even if I did earn enough money. I was a woman, and therefore not allowed to own a home or land.

So why did I run? Why did I decide to live? I thought… I thought for a long time, with no answer.

I thought for four years, until the answer appeared before my eyes.

---------

1484. I couldn't recall what day it was. I was roaming the streets, aimlessly, but at the same time, with a goal. I no longer had my overgown, as it was a nuisance to wear anyway. My kirtle and chemise were the only things I kept. The kirtle, not surprisingly, had lost most of its scarlet color from so many years. It was a color verging on its original white, but the last few inches still retained their full vibrance.

How had I survived for so long? Well, luck, I suppose. It did not take me long to recover from the death of my family and to realize that I needed to do something for myself to survive. But, I wanted to do so in a way that would not sacrifice my morals. I would never sell out my body, especially for the rich snobs who lusted for anything with breasts. Stealing was out as well. I wasn't willing to take away the money that was rightfully earned by whoever it was. So, how had I survived?

I worked.

I distanced myself from where I used to live and asked other tailors (Or doctors, if I was desperate) if they needed an assistant; someone to help in the back. I was often turned down, always by the rich folk, the excuse often being my poor appearance and because I was a woman. Whenever I did work, though, it wasn't for more than a few weeks. I did not blame them for throwing me out, though. They told me bluntly that they did not have the money to pay me. I left without making a fuss, and used whatever I had earned from my work to buy food.

There was one period of time, though, that I could have died. I suppose it was about two years back, but for some reason, no one would hire me. I was on my own for almost a month, spending and eating little to preserve what I had, but it did not last long enough. On the last few days of my personal recession, I became desperate. I was thirsty, and did not have a single ducat. So, in complete stupidity, I drank straight from the Venetian canals, despite their contaminated state. I paid for this dearly, becoming ill to the point that I felt Death's touch.

Somehow I recovered, and in fear of it happening again, I sold the very thing that I valued the most. It was the hairpin my father had given me; the last piece of evidence that kept me bound to my family.

Not surprisingly, it fetched a reasonable sum in the market, enough that I did not have to work for two months. But, after those two months, I was back to working again, like each day, trying to survive for some hidden cause.

I myself did not want to be the only one looking for my reason, so I often used some of my ducats for others. I bought apples, and I gave them away.

Does this seem pointless? Not in my eyes. I gave the apples to the poorest of the poor, those who had given up on life and were waiting for death to take them, rotting in an ally. They would always take an apple. Strange, considering they were waiting to die, correct? The apple, in my eyes, was not just food. It was a symbol.

Temptation. It was a temptation to live. The poor take an apple because deep down, they want to live, for something they don't know. So, maybe if I couldn't find my way, I would help them find their reason for survival.

This is why I walked aimlessly, but with a purpose. I looked for them, a small basket of apples in hand, hoping to find my answer. Well, on that specific day, it may have found _me._

I heard people gasping and screaming somewhere behind me, and, thinking nothing of it, I continued. The screams made their way closer, so in some strange fear, I turned to see the threat that approached. There was nothing. I furrowed my brow, looking at the terrified crowd. They were gawking upwards, strangely, so I looked up. I blinked.

A man in a hood ran across the rooves, two archers with their swords unsheathed chasing him, shouting profane words of slaughter and gore. They were gaining on him, and in a blind rush, he took the quickest route of escape; jumping down. When I said blind, I meant this, as he didn't look where he jumped, which happened to be, well, straight towards me.

I crashed to the ground before I could move out of his way. The basket of apples fell with me, fruit rolling all across the brick street. I gasped from the impact, feeling a sharp pain across my spine. My eyes, still open, were blurred but trained on the face of the hooded man. I could only see his jaw, and the scarred mouth that smirked down at me. I blinked forcefully a couple times, and within one of those blinks, he'd disappeared. I stood, in a daze, feeling sore and bruised from the sharp stone. A guard suddenly grabbed my shoulders and shook me into reality.

"Where did he go!? Which way!?" he spat, clearly aggravated that he'd lost his target. I thought for a moment, but I wasn't contemplating whether to tell the guard or not. I was wondering what the most effective way to distract them was, so that the man could get away. I hated the guards, of course, and was sure that there was some reasonable explanation for him to disrupt these guards… but also, strangely, I was intrigued, and my mind was telling me that I had to help him before it was too late.

With what little time I had, I decided that I would _steal_. I looked the guard straight in the face, and with a quick swipe, stole the bag of ducats that hung from his belt. I bolted, hopefully in the opposite direction of the hooded stranger. Success! The guards came after me, so it was clear that his offense was not as great as what I had just done.

I ran for a quite a bit, my breaths becoming short and winded. As soon as I turned a corner and was out of their sights, I hid within a large crowd, walking as they did and with my head down. Thankfully most of the people around me were taller than I, for I was sure my orange hair, though it had become more of an auburn color, would single me out.

I waited for a few minutes after I heard them leave, making sure they were a far enough distance so that I could walk freely. I sighed, and suddenly caught my breath. I remembered that the weight in my hand was not my basket of apples but… _money._

I clenched the moneybag in my hand and cursed. What the hell was wrong with me? I stole! I stole for some stranger I would never see again! Broke one of the morals that I'd been following for the passed four years… simply for that man…

I swore under my breath, deciding that I would use the money to replace the apples I had lost. There was no sense in returning it to the guard, seeing as how I stole it from him in the first place, and throwing the money away was a waste. I would not be using it for myself, at least.

Though… Strangely… I did not regret stealing as much as I thought I would. I'd gotten over it within a few minutes. The thought of stealing from citizens and innocents still chilled me to the bone, but…

Stealing from guards, however…

--------

"Stop her! Stop her now!"

People screaming. Guards running. Swords unsheathed. Adrenaline rush.

It had only been a few days since the incident with the hooded man, and already my mind was warped. This was the fifth time I'd stolen from a guard since then, simply to buy apples for the dying. The other three times, I'd gotten away with stealing without being noticed, but this time I was unlucky, as some other guards had seen my grubby little hands.

My eyes blurred with every pulse of my heart, and I could hardly comprehend my surroundings. All I could do was run and hope the guards would lose me. I cursed at my kirtle for being so inconvenient for running, and myself for being so short of breath. I used the same technique as the other day. I ran around a corner and into an alleyway. There was no crowd, so I looked for other options. Just to my left was some abandoned store. Immediately I climbed over the counter and hid under it, holding my breath and hoping the guards would not look inside. I heard them run passed, yelling words of confusion from my sudden disappearance. As their voices drifted into the distant streets, I looked around the abandoned store, assuming I was safe for a few minutes.

Books were piled in corners and on shelves, their pages and covers blanketed in a layer of dust. It was odd that I had stumbled upon this library, as they were very rare. I stood, noticing a door that lead to a backroom. Curious, I opened it. The rusty hinges creaked, sending a small echo through the short hallway it led into. It was surprising to find that this hall lead into two other rooms, where usually there was only one for storage. There must have been someone living there who made their home a library. I stepped inside, the floorboards creaking as I did so. I chose the left room first, opening the door to find a small mattress in the corner, with a desk beside it. So many books were stacked in this room that I could only open the door halfway, so I assumed it was a study and a storage room. Closing the door, I entered the room opposite the corridor.

I stood silently in the doorway, confused. The room itself was not baffled me; it looked like a bedroom, a bed in the center of the room with the headboard against the wall, a desk in the corner, and other such things that made the room feel like a living space. What seemed strange to me was that there was a quilt, brand new and almost shining in this room that was covered in dust. Like a fly to a fire, I stepped closer to it. I set the money and basket of apples on the desk near the door unconsciously, letting my feet drag me over to the bed to feel the fabric. I hadn't felt new fabric in so long… It was comforting… familiar… safe…

There was a creak in the front room. I felt my heart stop for a second, but immediately I grabbed the quilt, hid under the desk and covered the opening with it. Conscious thought kicked in, and I swore, realizing of course, that the quilt would stand out.

The door creaked open. My heart beat in unison with the heavy footsteps of whoever had walked in. I held my breath, realizing that it could be the guard I'd stolen from. It was silent for a few moments, and then a crunch. The bite of an apple. A few moments later I heard the clinking of coins. There was a chuckle. It was silent, but gruff, signifying a man's presence. He put the moneybag in his pocket. I scowled.

_Greed._

"Is anyone here?" The man's voice echoed. I flinched from his sudden booming voice, which in turn moved the quilt. The shuffling of a boot was heard. He'd turned to look down. Shit! He was going to find me, and I was going to die…

I felt the weight of his foot step onto a piece of the quilt that rested on the floor. He tugged it lightly, and then his foot was gone. Nothing happened.

Complete silence settled in the room. His breathing had stopped. No footsteps were heard.

Suddenly, the blanket was ripped from my hands. I closed my eyes and screamed in horror, waiting for the worst. His hand covered my mouth, but I screamed anyway, thrashing my legs in some strange hope that it would help me escape. His other hand grabbed my wrist.

"Calm down. Why are you here?" His voice was completely calm, as if he was used to such antics. I stopped screaming but kept thrashing. He removed his hand from my mouth, and I yelled, "Stop, don't hurt me! You-!" I opened my eyes. Immediately, I stopped struggling. "You…"

It was _him._

We both stared in silence for a few seconds, and then he smirked. "What? Have I charmed you already?" He teased. He let go of my wrist and reached for the hair on my face to move it behind my ear. I scowled again, slapping his hand away.

_Lust._

"Don't touch me." I hissed, moving my hair behind my ear anyway. He chuckled, but abruptly stopped.

"You… You're that woman that I crushed a few days back!" He realized, amused and completely oblivious to the fact that I was angry.

"Yeah, I'm still aching from that, you bastard." I spat. I tried to slap him in the face, but his hood got in the way. He grinned at my attempt and stood, proceeding to take a glove off his hand.

"Thanks for the landing, though. No idea how I got away from those guards so easily. They're relentless here." He grumbled, trying to strike up some pointless conversation.

"I stole from them, that's why." I admitted, "And I've been stealing from guards since then."

"Oh, so you're a thief?" He inquired. I gave him a look from under the desk.

"No. Actually, I _hate _stealing. I just… during that time I felt… I needed to help." He was about to take his hood off, but he stopped, instead walking to his bed and sitting down. He sighed silently.

"If you need somewhere to sleep, I have no problem with you using the other room. Just don't walk in here unannounced." He stated. I blinked, not saying anything for a few moments.

"Lucrezia." I mumbled. He looked up, somehow seeing me through his hood. "My name. It's Lucrezia. Who are you?" He sighed again.

"I never asked for your name." He stated matter-of-factly. He threw the apple he'd taken a bite from towards me, and turned, lying down to face the other wall. I caught the apple, absently taking a forceful bite from the side he hadn't bitten. It had been a long time since I'd felt this emotion. It was wild. I could feel my face heat up, and my teeth clenched. This man…

_I hated his guts._

0ooooooooooooooooooo0

**A/U: **So, was it okayyyyy? (I always ask that question, sorry xD; ) I'm hoping it was, and that whoever is reading this is at least SLIGHTLY excited for the next chapter. Whether it's to enjoy the fanfic, or to read about my OC dying, well, I don't mind either, as long as I've intrigued you to read more xDDD

Reviews are always welcome and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! And again, no flaming. If it's about my OC, don't tell me she's retarded or stupid. Just tell me how I can improve her :3

And, if for some reason I can't update until after, Happy Holidays!

(Also, tell me what you think the symbols are and what they stand for~ I want to know if they're obvious enough xD; )


	3. Wine

**A/U: **Blah, okay, this chapter was supposed to be WAY longer considering it was supposed to be the last one, but I decided to split this into two chapters since, if I didn't it would be like twice the length of the previous chapter xD;

Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews! I really thought this fanfic was going to be a complete flop, but considering I haven't done an AC fic, 7 reviews is a lot more than I expected! And a special thanks to Alba G. de Luca for constructive criticism! I think your input is the first one I've ever gotten out of all the fanfics I've written, so it really means a lot. x3

On a side note, none of the Great Sins are mentioned in this chapter, though they will reappear in the next one.

It also doesn't seem as though anyone was able to guess what the symbols are, so I'll just tell everyone what they are, and you guys can guess what they symbolize. xD;

-Apples. (This one is too obvious, so I wouldn't say this counts for guessing…)

-Lucrezia's hairpin.

-Lucrezia's kirtle/what she wears in general later.

-Ezio himself. (Represents two things, but one of them will be explained at the end of the next chapter. You can still guess, though x3)

If anyone would like to see a picture of my OC, a friend of mine took the time to draw her in her dress (Before her family was killed). The picture is on my account on DeviantArt, Hiyume-chan (I would post the link but is being weird.)

(Lawl, her boobs aren't supposed to be that big, but my friend has a not-able-to-draw-flatter-chest handicap xD)

Anyway, I'll stop yapping. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Assassin's Creed 1 or 2. Ubisoft does. Though I AM proud of being a Canadian and living about an hour's drive from one of their production offices.

0ooooooooooooooooooooo0

I awoke suddenly, hearing nothing and seeing nothing. I panicked for a moment, thinking my ears and eyes had failed me, before realizing that I was in a room, the candles blown out. I sighed, stretching happily at the feeling of a soft bed beneath me, not caring where this was or why I was there. I snuggled back into the mattress. My eyes shut. I just wanted a few more minutes of this paradise--no working, no apples, no stealing… no weird men in hoods…

… My eyes snapped open.

Oh. Wait.

I groaned groggily as I stood in the extra room at the back of the abandoned library. All memory of the day before came rushing back, and as it did, the urge to leave grew. I opened the door to the hallway. The candles were still lit in the corridor, the fire's glow somewhat illuminating the room I'd been in. I looked around and realized… my basket of apples wasn't there. Which meant…

I turned to look at the door across from where I stood, and scowled faintly. They were still in _his _room. Remembering what he told me before, I reluctantly knocked a few times. No answer. I knocked harder, wondering if he was asleep and hoping my knocks would wake him. Again, no answer. I waited a moment, and, taking in a breath, creaked his door open.

He was gone. I opened the door fully and looked about the room. It looked as though no life had entered the room for months, even though, I knew, I'd been in there just yesterday. The quilt was gone, at least, from what I could see, and layers of dust had replaced those of which were disturbed by my intrusion. I looked to my right to see that my basket of apples still sat on the desk I'd left it on. Looking at the floor, I spotted the apple he and I had bitten into, maggots taking it upon themselves to finish the rest. My mouth twitched slightly at the sight. Instinctively, I picked the rotten apple up by the stem, carrying my basket in my other hand, and walked outside. I threw the apple into the alleyway, where few people walked. It seemed like a waste, but at least something was enjoying it.

I looked back at the abandoned library. It was no longer lived in, so others took shelter. I pondered for a moment. Maybe… Maybe I could come back, if only for one more night…

----------

The day was short, and yet long. I'd woken up later than usual—noon, many hours later than what I was used to—and so had less time to go about my daily business. I had very few coins left in the pouch that hung from my belt, and therefore needed to find work. I went through stall after stall in whatever district I'd managed to end up in, but no one seemed to need help, nor had the money to hire. This, combined with the desire to sleep in a bed once more, made the day drag on for eternity.

Finally, after all the apples from my basket were gone, still no work to be found, dusk came upon the grand floating city. The streets slowly became deserted, the soft glow of candles materializing as the twilit sky engulfed the streets and walkways. Lanterns illuminated the fronts of gondolas as boatmen carried on with their business through the canals. This time in the city was soothing, almost like a lullaby for the eyes.

I became tired almost suddenly, as the distant orange hue of the sky slowly settled into the horizon and left an indigo night in its passing. The world was going to sleep, as was my mind. I let my body move of its own accord, though I knew where I was going. My feet dragged tiredly against the brick alleys. I don't remember how long I walked, nor how I returned to the abandoned library. It was all a haze, and before I could comprehend my surroundings, I was lying in the bed I'd woken up in just that morning.

The soft sheets slowly lulled my lazy body into an abyss of sweet unconsciousness, one that seemed almost surreal—My physical being was rendered useless, as my muscles refused to move, but my mind was on the very line between aware and asleep. Just at this moment, my ears heard the very faint creak of a door. It did not alarm me in anyway. It was almost… relaxing…

Familiar, heavy footsteps sounded through the corridor, and then into the room. They stopped just beside me. My mind, slowly slipping away from reality, did not take the presence as one of harm. All was silent. Suddenly, something gently touched my forehead, and I welcomed it. I felt my hair being pushed back behind my ear…

And, as if this motion was the very key to nothingness, my mind fell into the loving embrace of slumber.

---------

It almost seemed as though this was becoming a routine.

I woke again, in the same place as the day before, struggling to remember what happened just before sleep overcame my senses. It was almost like déjà vu. Everything was hazy for a moment, and then… I froze. I recalled footsteps, though in my memory, they were faint… my forehead suddenly tingled, and with an impulsive urge I moved my hair behind my ear. Yes… I remembered someone… Ah, what was I thinking? It was likely a dream, one of no importan…

I stopped. I was sitting now, after waving the thoughts off as my imagination, and saw a quilt. _The _quilt. The one I'd seen from two evenings before. I stared at it for a moment before realizing that I could see. The room was not dark, which meant a candle was lit. I looked over at the desk near the door, and, sure enough, one sat on its surface. Something on the desk itself caught my eye. I stood, instinctively, to get a better look at it. It took me a moment to comprehend what it was, as I was still dazed from sleep.

Money, and a large sum of it. A full 100 ducats lay haphazardly across the wooden desk. Taking a closer look, I noticed that many had a different insignia than those made in Venice. Some were florins.

I pursed my lips and slid the coins from the desk and into my hands, which I put in a second pouch I saved for apples. I blew the candle out, as the wax was beginning to fill the plate it had been placed on, and would overflow if the candle were still aflame for what I would guess to be a few minutes. I sighed and walked out from the room, but again, I stopped.

The dust on the ground had been disturbed. Faded footprints lead into the room across from where I'd stayed, and looking at the door itself, I saw that the knob was clean. I took in a sharp breath. It was likely that _he _came back.

Doing instinctively what I did last morning, I knocked.

A groan was heard. I waited, listening as muffled sounds of shuffling and clinking noises came through the door. I pondered for a moment from what he was doing, and, firstly, why he kept me waiting for so long.

"Come in." I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, but entered the room. He stood at a desk, his back to mine, and, I noted, his hood was over his head. I sighed quietly, knowing that I'd woken him up and he'd just put it on. He turned after a moment of silence, and smirked. "Buongiorno. You're up early."

"Really? Yesterday I woke at noon." I replied calmly, though I seethed with hatred from the sight of him. He gave a simple nod of recognition and looked back at the desk, signaling for me to come in. I sat on a stool quietly, but no words were spoken. He didn't seem to mind, and… neither did I. It was a comfortable silence, as if we'd known each other for ages. "I thought you left." I said finally. He didn't reply for a moment, unrolling some sort of scroll and inspecting it before answering.

"No. I just… travel most of the day. And night."

"But surely you have the money to pay for a proper lodging, seeing as you give it away freely." I shuffled the coins in my purse for accent.

"I would, but I have to be discreet."

"Discreet? Is someone trying to find you?" He chuckled lightly, as if I'd said a joke.

"You could say that." He grinned under his hood, putting the scroll back in some pouch under his cape. I furrowed my brow. His tone was nonchalant, and yet there was a hint of something like graveness behind his words. We were silent again as he shuffled through some other things on the desk, his back breaking my view from what he was doing.

"I don't need your money." I blurted, sitting stalk-still at my words. He stopped, turned for a moment, and turned back. He showed no sign of replying. I continued, "I never use the money _rightfully earned_ by others for my own needs." I heard him scoff quietly, but… his shoulders drooped, as if what I'd said made him depressed. He shook his head slightly and began fiddling with a piece of his white coat. Curious, I leaned over a bit on my chair to see what he was doing. He was pursing his lips and staring at a discoloration in the cloth.

"What's wrong?" I inquired innocently. He let out a sigh of frustration.

"It's these damn Venetian tailors! Can't even manage to get out a simple stain…" He grumbled. I scowled slightly at this statement, getting up to have a better look at the blot. It was faint, but still visible from a considerable distance. It was a pinkish color, which meant it was red before.

"What is that? Wine?"

"…Y-Yes. Hit a glass off a table." He stuttered. I gave him a doubtful look before swiping his hand from the cloth and feeling the material with my fingers.

"Sounds like you party more than travel. Anyways, whatever tailor you went to seemed to care much more about your money than good service. Wait here. I'll be a bit." I let go of the cloth and quickly ran out of the room and back into the streets from the abandoned library, promptly making my way to the market. Using the money he'd given me, I bought a bucket of fresh water, along with various soaps and other ingredients used to clean out wine spots, such as beech-ash lye and white wine. I made my way back with my hands full. It had only taken me a few minutes, as I knew my way around the market from yesterday's work hunt.

"It looks like you stalked up." He grinned from under his hood, "Are you expecting this to happen often?"

"It's a habit, I suppose. A curse for having the name of Sarta." I mumbled half-heartedly as I dropped everything but the lye and wine. Taking a cloth in my hand, I sprinkled some of the ash onto the stain and poured a bit of the wine, afterwards using a scrubber to meld the two together into the cloth. As I scrubbed, I felt his hand touch my hair. I swiped it away, stopped scrubbing, and looked up with an annoyed expression. He raised his hands in the air.

"Sorry. It's tempting." He pouted, putting his hands back down, "It's just a wonder how you see what you're doing without a clip to hold your hair back." I stopped momentarily, a pang of guilt running through my veins.

"I'm used to it." I grumbled, using a rag to soak up some of the wine, which had by now absorbed most of the stain. I wiped my hands, explaining that the material would have to be soaked in water in the evening. "So," I continued, putting everything away as he inspected the almost invisible stain, "You know my name. I would assume it's common courtesy that I know yours." He stopped suddenly, and he frowned.

"I can't tell you that, nor show you my face." I blinked, slightly confused.

"Why?" I asked dumbly. He sighed and waved for me to leave.

"I have my reasons." I left, confused and slightly angry for not knowing, but went on with my day. I looked for work, bought apples and gave them away, and generally did what I did every day. As evening settled onto the docks of Venice once more, I realized that I would have to return to the library to help rid the stain from the hooded man's coat, so I began my route back, surprisingly not as tired as the day before.

Though, something stopped me on the way. I stared forward, standing in the alleyway that led to the library, to see the man himself, staring back at me. "Okay," He grinned, "What do I do now?"

I slapped my hand against my face. He was soaking wet, presumably from the Venetian canals, and he stood there, completely oblivious to my frustration.

"_Idiot."_

-----------

He sat by candlelight that evening to dry off, as he did many evenings after. Somehow, even after just two nights of staying at that abandoned library… I was used to coming back. He never welcomed me, but at the same time, he never told me to leave when I came back. Well, I wouldn't see why he would care, really, since I often kept to my own room.

Sometimes I would wake to find ducats sitting on the table, despite my protests from before, though he gave me less.

Weeks passed. Rarely was it that I saw him when I left the room, if at all. I don't know when it happened, but I began a routine check of knocking on his door in the morning, often finding that he wasn't there. I supposed that he had a busy life, one of which I was not permitted to know.

Though, when I happened to hear that groan of his from being woken up rudely by my knock, I felt a kind of pang of relief, as if reassured that he hadn't left and I wasn't alone in this home.

Home… when did I start calling it that? I guess… I _needed _to call something a home after using the brick streets as my bed for so long. _Home. _It was comforting just to know I had somewhere to go.

Anyway, when he was in his room, which again is rare, he would allow me in, always having his hood over his head. I took my usual spot on the stool by the desk and waited for him to speak, but he was never the one to start, so I did. I remember some conversations, where I began explaining more of my life to him. I never spoke of my family, though. I mostly explained what I used the apples for and, if I had nothing else to say, I would sometimes mumble about nonsense; things like the poor people I meet, designs for dresses that I would never make…

And why was it that I even talked to this man that I hated so much? Maybe in the hopes that by telling him my thoughts, he would say something about himself. Something, _anything, _that would hint to something good—Because, for some strange reason, my unconscious mind kept telling me that I didn't want to hate him. He was tolerant of my presence, and I had stayed in that library for longer than I had ever held a job. It was the simple need for human interaction that kept me from leaving and kept my hatred bottled up.

For the sixth time I sat on that stool, silence settling on the both of us. I could not think of anything to say, and he would not speak until I did. The only sound in the room was the shuffling of papers and other objects as he stood by a counter on the other side of the room. It was evening, an unusual time for me to be in this room, but I'd come back from my daily routine to find that he was home earlier than usual, so I knocked and he let me in.

My head rested against the wall, letting my eyes close to muster up something to say. As I thought, I heard the faint sound of carnival music in the distance, despite the heavy walls of the library. My eyelids shot open, and I let the word escape from my mouth. "Carnevale…"

"Oh, is that tonight?" he mumbled absently, "Well, I'm sure as a former tailor you've been to it." I cringed slightly at his words.

"N-No." He turned suddenly at this. His hood, as usual, concealed most of his face, and I couldn't tell for a moment whether he was surprised or trying to glare.

"You haven't? You told me before that you worked by the Dorsoduro district." I was momentarily baffled at his memory of this conversation. I myself couldn't recall it. Just the fact that he _listened _to my nonsense startled me.

"A-And? That does not mean I was _obliged _to go." I snapped back, "I think of it as a stupid event for the snobs of society. They have so much money and yet they spend it on useless things like Carnevale. I wasn't a tailor because I _wanted _be. I was because I _had _to be." I stopped then, seeing him smirk at my outburst. "What? Have you been to it? Do you think differently?"

"No, I haven't. I've been too… busy." He'd turned back to his papers and things, his words muffled by his hood. "But," He continued, "I've never _thought _of going to it." His shoulders suddenly drooped, and his hands rested against the table, the shuffle of papers no longer heard. The carnival music's echo could now be distinctly perceived. "It's been a long time," He sighed in what sounded to me like a very tired tone. He sounded… older than before. "A long time since I could just… be myself. Live freely." I saw him raise his gloved hand and, ever so gently, stroke his thumb again the scar running vertically on his lip.

I didn't realize it, but I was almost gawking. Never had I seen him so… _vulnerable._ Never was there the slightest hint of who he was or what his past was like. But now… at this moment… I almost felt… _empathy _for him.

But as soon as it came it was gone, and his sudden outburst caught me by surprise. "Well," He smirked, "I've decided." He stopped again, his smirk dropping and being replaced with an expression of curiosity. Slowly, almost _dramatically, _he turned on the balls of his feet, turning about a quarter of a circle, to look through his hood and directly at me. The grin slowly grew again. I was scared.

"W-What?" I said after an awkward moment. He saw my nervousness and snickered. He walked forward, not towards me, but towards the door.

"Stay here." He ordered in a strangely amused tone, and left my sight, leaving me in his room. Alone.

I hadn't been alone in that room since the first time I stepped foot into the library. It was uncomforting… otherworldly, almost, to be in this room alone. I had become so used to our routine during the passed few weeks of my stay that it felt as though I were disobeying the very structure of society by being here.

But, at the same time, I felt like a child rebelling against parental rules, the rush of curiousity coursing through my veins. I stood from my stool slowly, as if causing any kind of stir would bring him back in a puff of smoke. The floorboards creaked gently as my feet pressed against them, my eyes inspecting the room for signs of disturbance. I felt as though something wasn't right about the room. Something foreign was still in its midst, indefinitely his.

Something flashed suddenly in the corner of my eye, and I looked to see what it was. My eyebrows furrowed in confused wonderment. Something metal, just barely visible, as it was covered by an old woolen cloth covered in dust. The shine that the candle caused against it was like looking into a moon; it was surreal and easy to spot in a room so dull, like the giant planet that floated clearly above the sky, obscuring some of the stars. I approached, cautiously, and reached out towards it. I held the edge of the cloth in my fingertips, and, gently enough not to disturb the dust, looked under too see what the object was. I held in a gasp.

It was a sword, long and thin, along with other smaller blades scattered on the ground beside it. I wondered, for a moment, if these were old weapons, belonging to the old library owner, but, taking a closer look, I noticed that the blade did not show any sign of dulling, and no rust twisted its beautiful surface. I was confused for a moment…

My thoughts were cut short as I heard the back door open. I turned my head in breakneck speed, and quickly made my way back to my stool, adjusting myself to seem as though I hadn't moved. I let out a small breath I'd been holding as he walked in, still carrying a slight smirk. But then… something vibrant in his hands caught my eye.

I immediately held my breath again.

"You didn't…" I gawked as he stood there almost proudly, the fabric in his hands. The fabric, in fact, was a dress. The material itself was of silken cloth, a vibrant but dark shade of red. The same red, in fact, that my scarlet kirtle used to be(Which was now a rusty-looking white) . The sleeves were short and the neckline was civil, and the gown was long enough to cover the kirtle along with my feet.

"So," He said, snapping me from my reverie, "Would you like to accompany me?" I was a bit dazed and forgot what we'd talked about earlier.

"What? Where?" I asked dumbly. He chuckled.

"To the Carnevale." He reminded, and I felt a pang of hatred.

"No. _Absolutely _not. You _know _I hate the Carnevale, and yet you invite me?"

"You can't hate something until you've experienced it." He shot back, and with a sly turn of his lips, I understood the innuendo behind his words. I was disgusted, and got up from my chair to walk to the other side of the room.

He sighed in frustration, but my ears picked up a hint of amusement behind his breath. "Sorry, that came out wrong… But it seems a bit selfish for you to assume something about the rich so quickly." His words struck me heavily, and I couldn't help but turn and gawk. He didn't know what I'd gone through, so what right did he have of telling me what to think?

Almost as if he'd read my mind, he grinned and bowed lightly, holding out the arm that the dress was draped over. "Will you join me, _bella_?" he inquired in a sarcastic tone. I scowled and walked swiftly towards him, snatching the dress and walking out of the room as I did so.

I slipped the atrocity over my kirtle, determined to prove this _fool_ wrong. I accepted his challenge.

0oooooooooooooooooooooooo0

**A/U: **GAH, Mary-Sue alert D:

Okay, so the ending sounds a bit MarySue-ish, I know, but trust me when I say it's not how you think it's going to be! Something happens that's very important to the plot, and I wish I could use something besides the Carnival to work out what I have planned, but I don't know how else to play it out. (Plus the dress is symbolic)

So, hopefully this chapter didn't make you spit and turn in disgust. The first chapter, really, was also a prologue, considering it was just introducing my OC.

And ew, I hope Ezio's not WAY OOC in this chapter. I wanted to add some humor to lighten up the story, but I feel like I overdid it. (Example, that random innuendo was not planned at all. I wrote that line, read it again, laughed and decided to keep it).

So, if his character is off or if you find that something else is bothering you while you read the fanfic, please don't hesitate to tell me! I'll be sure to make notes to improve for the next chapter. Reviews and CC are always appreciated!

Happy Belated Holidays!


	4. Roses

**A/U:** (The title for this chapter is kind of random, because no "Roses" are involved in this chapter xD)

GAH, curse me and how I underestimate thingsssss

You remember how I said that I split Chapter 2 and that this would be the last chapter? Well, it isn't. I'm actually splitting THIS one, too, because it's already 10 and a half pages on Word ;-; I THOUGHT this whole thing was going to be maybe like, five pages, leaving enough room for the end. *stabs self*

So, knowing me, what I had planned for the end will end up being 10 pages, so, as to not make this chapter a crapload longer than the other chapters, I'm splitting them. Sorry for those were expecting the end ;---;

Anyway, just a warning, but I realized that this chapter contains some Mary-Sue elements, so I don't mind if you call Lucrezia a Mary-Sue because I kind of realized that myself… just don't flame me.

And bleh, to be honest, I kind of dislike how I wrote the first half of this chapter… OKAY. I'm going to shut up, and stop discouraging people from reading. ENJOY~

(If anyone is still looking for symbols, I'll be posting a 5th 'chapter' 5 days after I submit the 4th chapter with explanations for all of the symbols.)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters in any way.

0oooooooooooooooooooooo0

The night was actually rather quiet, almost eerie as we made our way to the carnival. The hustle and bustle of the market was minimal, and the streets were filled with whispers and giggles instead of the constant babble of society. It was discomforting for me. Even the water of the canals had stilled, as if attending the carnival as well. Darkness filled the streets, but suddenly, as we turned a corner, we saw the bright, almost blinding lights of the Carnevale. They were spellbinding, as if fate itself had brought me to this very place.

We crossed a bridge into the lights of the festival, and as we traversed through this threshold, the soft murmur of music suddenly became a plethora of mixed sounds, ranging from instrumental jumbles to the jabber of partygoers. I felt the nudge of _his_ shoulder, signaling the moment to put my mask on. It slipped on quite neatly, a bit of string, thin enough not to be noticeable but still able to keep the mask from falling, securing it around my head. It was a small mask, like most of the masks I saw as we entered the main carnival square. Its red and gold hue covered the area around my eyes and a bit of my forehead, the curved bottom of the mask fitting smartly against my nose. I found this mask-wearing tradition fairly pointless, though I suppose it was effective if you didn't want people to know who you were.

At that note, I looked over to see the mask he'd put on himself. I saw him adjusting it, and noticed the area it covered was twice the amount of mine. After a moment he looked up. I noted that his face seemed to be more in view, the shady gray mask supposedly giving him confidence. Even his hood covered less of his face. He looked down at me, and for the first time, I saw the tiniest bit of glitter from his irises, which had always been hidden in the shadows of his hood.

A revolting smell unexpectedly hit my senses, distracting me from my observance and turning my eyes to the source. I noticed a crowd just meters away, cheering as the sounds of hacking and slashing were heard. I saw blood fly through the air for a moment, though it was a little, and realized that it was the slaughtering of an animal.

"Well, isn't that a pleasant sight. I think my ideas were correct…" I scoffed silently. I tried plugging my nose, but realized the rigid mask kept me from doing so. He chuckled at my attempt.

"Whatever entertains the people." He replied, seconds later coughing from the smell. I grumbled to myself as we walked on.

It wasn't long before we reached the main carnival square, though it took me a moment to realize that his soft footsteps had dissipated behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw the he was, in fact, gone. My eyes darted frantically, a bit panicked, but I quickly spotted him again. He was standing by the few people playing instruments, whispering into one of their ears and placing a small bag of what I assumed to be full of coins in his hand. Suddenly, he pointed at me, and the man looked with a bizarre expression. My 'companion' stood straight again, and the musician put his flute to his mouth and played a long, ear-shattering note. The few people around the band and myself stopped what they were doing and looked to the source of the note. The sound stopped, and _he_ began walking forward. Towards me.

I groaned as the flute player began playing slow, suspenseful music, and the hooded man stopped a few feet from where I stood. As he held his hand out, the flute player trilled an awkward note he had suddenly stopped on, as if waiting for a cue. "So," he began, "Would you care to dance?"

"I'm alright." Was my immediate answer, and the crowd that had suddenly gathered round us let out a disappointing moan. The flute's note went flat. His hand drooped and he frowned.

"Are you sure? The only way to prove me wrong is to participate in the events. Isn't that true?" People around us began to murmur and wonder what he meant, and others began a slow chant to try and change my mind. _Whatever entertains the people- _and clearly that was his intention.

"Yes, but it doesn't mean I have to participate with you, specifically." I shot back, some people in the crowd gasping and giggling at my retort. He froze for a moment, wondering what to say, but then he shrugged as if to agree.

"Alright." He said, and I blinked. He turned and raised his arms almost triumphantly. "Who wants to dance?" he yelled, and the crowd laughed, leaving me in a state of disarray. Almost immediately, a girl pushed through the crowd and grabbed hold of his arm, the music starting up again. I was left alone.

I stood emotionless for what seemed like hours, unable to comprehend what he'd just done and what I should feel. A silent anger bubbled up inside me. My feet began to tingle, and I realized this sensation was my own mind telling me to leave.

I walked off nonchalantly, though I was fighting the urge to walk up to him and slap him in the face. Him and his _pride._ He flaunted his money around like it was nothing, and treated women like play toys. It had taken him no time to leave me for another woman despite the fact that he'd invited me, and yet we were… we were… what were we…?

Were we anything?

My anger suddenly settled from a bubbling sensation to a simmer as I thought. My feet had stopped in a walkway just across a bridge from the carnival square, and I found no motivation to keep them going.

I couldn't name what we were as friendship… we definitely weren't lovers (I almost gagged at the idea), and acquaintances seemed too vague… what were we?

This monotonous babbling continued in the depths of my mind as I started to regret my unspoken rage. Sure, he'd moved on from me to another woman without a moment's hesitation, but hadn't I been the one to give him the opportunity to do so? I sighed, took the blame and continued on a pointless route, clearing my mind enough to search for an event that might amuse me.

The voice in my head kept blathering on.

------------

Time, surprisingly, passed in the blink of an eye.

At first, everything around me looked flashy but boring. The lights and music were attractive and drew me in, but the crowd and strange events kept me from enjoying the beginning of the carnival (The animal slaughtering was still heavy in my mind). After a while I decided to sit down and look for something interesting, but before I realized what was going on, people had gathered around me. I'd sat down on one of the benches in a row of many others, and had noticed too late that this was a place for an audience, and a play began.

I couldn't recall the name of the short play, but it was appalling, though humorous enough to lift my mood. Afterwards, I began to actually participate in the events. I gathered in a crowd once to watch a carnival performer play with fire, until someone pushed him over and almost sent him rolling into the flames. I mostly watched the plays, though whenever I wasn't, I wandered about, content to listening to the music, as my ears had become accustomed to the shouts of the people.

It was near midnight when I decided to leave the comfort of the simple entertainment. I felt almost giddy and daring after realizing how much fun I was having, despite my previous doubts (Though I wouldn't tell _him_ that), and out of some strange impulse, I was drawn to a crowd that was cheering as a pig was slaughtered. I meant to simply pass as I headed elsewhere, but something invisible pulled me towards it… and the feeling was gone as soon as I caught the stench of rotting innards.

I held my breath as I passed, and as soon as I turned the corner, I let it out, coughing profusely to get the disgusting odor out of my throat. Though, the cough did not relieve me. My cough was dry.

I hadn't had fresh water in almost two days.

In my own stupidity, I'd ended up neglecting the simple need of water, and I didn't eat nearly enough food to quench my thirst. A pounding headache suddenly struck me, and all at once I was dazed.

Without a moment's delay I was off and into the streets of the Dorsoduro, looking desperately for water. As expected, it didn't take long for me to find a rickety stand, manned by a scruffy looking man in his thirties, on the side of the cobblestone walkway. I found it strange, though, that there were individual cups standing about the stand haphazardly, while water was usually kept in much larger containers.

The moment of confusion was gone as my thirst blinded my senses. I reached into my pocket and through coins chaotically across the wooden surface of the stand, not caring if it was more or less than what was needed, and grabbed a cup. The liquid was a bit murky, but my mind told me that it wasn't important, and so, without a moment's hesitation, I pressed the cold cup to my parched lips.

I felt a tingle as it ran down my throat. I finished the cup within seconds, letting out a sigh of relief as I put the cup back on the table. And then, there was pain.

The soft pleasant tingle of liquid on my dry tongue suddenly turned into a sickening feeling, almost like burning, and what had only moments ago been a tasteless fluid became a bitter and sour combination with an even more horrible aftertaste. I coughed and hacked for a moment, clutching my throat and spitting rudely onto the ground. I looked at the man sitting behind the wooden structure, appalled and angry that he would give such nasty water away.

I froze. Instead of confusion, the man was smirking at me, not pleasantly either. He looked mischievous… _evil_ almost. And that's when I realized what I'd blindly spilled down my gullet.

Alcohol.

"Weren't expecting that, were you?" The man smirked as I struggled with the taste. In disgust I spat at his feet, and before he could curse, I ran.

I'd never had alcohol of any sort, as even during my time as a tailor I hadn't had the money for such luxuries. It was disgusting. I wondered for a moment why, many years back, I'd considered spending my extra coins on this intoxicating drink.

It didn't take long before the liquor spread through my veins like venom. The cup I'd taken hadn't had much in it, but that fact didn't seem to matter, since my body wasn't used to the drink. I felt myself waver, but my mind was fine. It was as if my physical being had detached itself from my psyche.

I stumbled like a fool through the streets, struggling to regain control of my legs. Fear suddenly struck me. This was Carnevale. _Whatever entertains the people._ I was alone and unable to protect myself in this useless state. What if _I_ became the entertainment they were looking for?

…_I had to find him._

This thought was enough for me to regain some control of my nerves. A surge of paranoia rushed through me, as if I was in mortal peril with every step I took and every corner I turned. My ears sometimes mistook laughing in the distance as chuckling just behind me, making me turn in response, and the abruptness of this movement made me stumble even more. My eyes blurred a bit sometimes. I shook my head forcefully when this happened, as I refused to let just a bit of drink take over my being.

Within minutes of struggling to find him, the main carnival square's lights came into view. They were blurry and gave off an unnatural glare through my glazed eyes. I just had to cross that bridge that stood over a narrow canal, and I was sure he would spot me.

My face felt unnaturally hot… my arms were almost numb… I felt my feet trip over something invisible, and with complete understanding of what was about to happen, I let myself fall and awaited the feeling of my face connecting with the hard, cold ground…

But it didn't.

Instead, there was a nice, warm sensation that dissipated the harsh hot feeling of the liquid that pulsed through me. I blinked a few times to see the ground about a foot from my face, and turned to see what had stopped me. Who else but him?

I found that he'd somehow caught me in a way that his hand rested on my back, and as the numbness disappeared from my limbs, I noticed that I'd landed somewhat… gracefully. I scrunched my face as I realized that he'd attempted to make it look like he'd dipped me down after a dance.

"Someone looks tired." He grinned as he lifted me back up, "Did you have fun?"

As soon as I felt solid ground under my feet, I pushed him away, stumbling as I did. "No, of course not!" I somewhat lied, and I found that there was a soft, unpleasant slur to my words. I continued anyway. "It was dreadful. It's much too crowded here, and…"

"You're drunk." He cut me off suddenly. I blinked at him for a moment, seeing a grin playing on his lips. This was something I couldn't lie about.

"O-Only a little."

"And yet you tell me you didn't have fun."

"I didn't! I…" I let out an embarrassed sigh and looked at the ground, "I thought it was water." He was quiet for a moment, but his silence was interrupted by a snort at the back of his throat as he attempted to hold his laughter in. I stuttered as I explained, "I haven't had anything to drink for two nights, so I was thirsty and…"

"Stupid." He added.

"Yes, and…" I stopped myself, realizing that I'd just agreed to his statement. I felt my face go red with shame. "N-no, I didn't mean to…" But my words were cut off once again, as he could no longer hold in his laughter. I furrowed my brows and was about to scold him, but I realized something before I could.

This wasn't his usual sly chuckle. No, this was a laughter I'd never heard from him before. Despite knowing that he was slightly older than myself, I couldn't help but notice the subtle youthfulness behind his gruff tone. He'd hidden this strange side of him under his hood since I'd met him, and probably had it concealed from society for how long, I couldn't tell. He sounded… _innocent._

Unconsciously, my eyebrows relaxed, and my lips curled gently upwards into a smile I hadn't felt in some time, and I even let out a small chuckle. His laughter slowly subsided into a boyish grin. My eyes caught the glint of his irises again, which disappeared for a moment as if he'd blinked in surprise. I caught myself smirking at him, and supposed that this was the reason for his subtle shock, since my expression was always monotonous or displeased.

Despite myself, I kept eye contact with him. The shadows of his cowl were almost welcoming, in a strange way, the subtle presence of his eyes shining like twin moons in a starless sky…

A sound was heard in the distance. It was almost like the call of an eagle, though I could tell it was only an imitation, as whoever had attempted the sound was an amateur. I paid little attention to it, but within a second of the call's echo, he'd turned, a sudden alertness to his posture. Curiously, I looked over his shoulder to see where the sound had come from.

A shadowy figure stood some distance apart from us, but it was clear that whomever it was had their gaze set in our direction. The figure stepped out slightly from the darkness, and within that moment I realized it was a woman. Her matted black hair was scrunched under a ragged-looking hat, and even from where we stood I could tell that her eyes were a beautiful shade of icy-blue. Her brown-and-white clothing, tattered in some places, told me immediately that she was a thief.

She was mesmerizing, but at the same time, she looked almost… foreboding.

I felt a hand suddenly on my shoulder. The hard grip of his fingers startled me, and I looked up with a glare. Immediately, my frustration was gone. All that was left was fear.

The moon-like twinkles of his eyes had turned into something like a raging fire, his boyish grin replaced by a hard line. "Sit down and rest. I'll be back in a minute." I could tell that he'd attempted a comforting tone, but what came out through his gritted teeth was harsh and threatening. This was not the man I'd known for the last few weeks… This was someone completely different.

I nodded, eyes wide with terror instead of the hate I often felt. His hand was gone abruptly, and without so much as a goodbye, he stalked off, a malicious purpose in each step. My shoulder was already sore.

I was shaking unknowingly from what had just happened, and an abrupt exhaustion washed over me as if those few moments had seeped the energy from my already sleep-deprived body. I took a few wavering steps to my left and sat on an empty bench. My mind tried to comprehend whether this strange turn of events was real or a figment of my drunken imagination.

I watched nervously as he disappeared into the shadows, the woman looking back at me once more. She seemed to scan me with her icy eyes for a moment, and, as if what she saw satisfied some unspoken question, she smiled gently in a mysterious kind of understanding before the darkness took her from my sight. I strained myself to distinguish their forms beyond the gloom, but there was nothing.

My search ended after a minute or two, but the prickly feeling of being watched still haunted the air around me. I did not know how long it would take for him to come back, if at all, so I sighed and rested my head against the hard surface of the building behind me, closing my eyes and waiting for sleep to take me from this dark reverie.

Within seconds I opened my eyes again.

This feeling was strange. My body was telling me that it needed rest, as if I hadn't slept in days, and yet my mind was racing as though sleep was the last thing it needed. This bizarre separation of physical and mental conditions caused a sense of imbalance as soon as my eyelids shut, as if the world around me was spinning while I stayed in place.

I ruled out the option of slumber as a way to pass time, instead being content to look about the carnival square. I knew from some past experience that this square was mostly used for the construction of gondolas, but such an open area was beneficial for parties and the like, and so production had been moved elsewhere. I searched calmly about the square, spotting planks of wood and tools that were forgotten by the workers and scattered about under people's feet. Every few minutes someone would trip or step on something, letting out a string of curses that were inaudible or ignored by the crowd. I grimaced slightly as I saw a child collapse after hitting their toe against what looked like a hammer, their yelps of pain making me avert my eyes, their gaze directed at the rooftops. It was a rather pointless place to look, but the shimmer of starlight against shingles of varying color captivated my senses, for the moment easing my nervous thoughts. A silhouette intercepted my view, and I had to blink to realize what it was.

A guard stood triumphantly over the crowd of oblivious partygoers, his shadow ebbing over them like a predator choosing its next meal from a flock of helpless creatures. His haunting gaze pierced the crowd like the arrow that was pressed lightly against his bow's string. My eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement at his vigilance, and without thinking I looked about the other roofs. Other guards stood above streets and canals with bows in hand, and in the distance were more, just as cautious as those around the square. I was aware of the fact that their were always guards on duty, making sure no one was stupid enough to climb buildings, but this was odd. Never had I seen so many on watch at the same time, let alone the fact that they were already prepared to strike. It was like a pack of savage beasts, circling about and waiting for the right moment to pounce…

"_Mi scusi, signora."_

I felt myself jump slightly at the words, looking up to see a permanently scowling face gazing about the square. A guard stood just a few feet away, with three other standing in formation behind him, their hands hovering over the hilt of their swords. All four of them darted their eyes from one place to another every few seconds in what looked like paranoia. It took me a moment to realize he was addressing me. "Y-Yes?"

"There are a few questions I'd like to ask, if you would not mind." My heart jumped into my throat. He must have caught my hesitation, as he continued, "Do not worry, _signora._ We are asking many people, so none of the things we request of you are personal." His tone was comforting, but his eyes still darted about, and so I hardly felt reassured. I noticed he'd used a plural, and out of curiousity, I looked around the crowd. It was almost out of nowhere that groups of guards had gathered between the people. They were, in fact, interrogating others, and though it seemed odd, it supported his statement.

"Fair enough." I mumbled finally, "What is it you'd like to know?"

He started, his tone suddenly serious, "Well, for the past few years there has been a threat in Venezia, that I'm sure you've heard of in one way or another. An assassin, yes?"

"Yes," I admitted bluntly. It was impossible to ignore the heralds as they screamed of bloodshed about the city, a merciless killer who took no heed for age or social status. I never believed them. I'd seen a few dead bodies about the city, blood spilling from their throats in an obvious murder, but they'd always been guards or the remnants of a corrupted soul.

"Though he usually keeps hidden, there have been reports of this assassin here, at Carnevale." This, to my unspoken question, gave reason for the sudden increase in this district's protection. "Have you, by chance, noticed anyone acting strange in the last few hours?" he inquired.

My mind automatically flashed to the woman only moments ago, her eyes piercing me like icicles. I shuddered a bit at the thought, but waved her off. He'd mentioned a _he_, so it couldn't have possibly been her…

He noticed my delayed answer and added, "If it helps, our leader suspects that the man was once a Florentine noble, an Ezio Auditore."

I felt a pang of sudden familiarity, but not with the name… Memories rushed haphazardly through my mind as I tried to pinpoint a vague, unimportant event…

Florin…

My hesitation caught the guard's attention once again, and this time his gaze finally settled on me. "You remember something? He is usually seen wearing a…" He cut off suddenly, as if in some revelation. I looked up, waiting for him to go on, and I froze. It was as if I was seeing the guard's face for the first time.

Two diagonal slashes marked an 'x' across his left eye socket, the eye itself not there at all. One of the scars ran all the way across his face and through the right side of his lip, forcing it into an unnatural grimace. He had a young look about him, but small wrinkles and pale skin made him old beyond his years. While his scarred lid did not move, his other showed an expression of surprise, and then a subtle fury.

"You… You remind me of a woman, from some time back…" his tone had gone from serious to ominous within only a moment. I felt an aura of fear engulf me as he took a provocative step forward, his left hand suddenly on the hilt of his sword. I watched as he pulled the blade dramatically from its sheath, but my eyes were distracted only a second later by the empty space where his right hand should have been. "Four years ago, was it? Yes, that's right…"

A pang of terror hit me like a hurricane. _Four… four years ago…_

"I remember it like it was yesterday…" He grinned to himself, staring at his blade as he twirled it nonchalantly in his hand. The group behind him had suddenly become aware of what was going on, their gaze fixated on the two of us. "A rich tailor hired me to kill a family of five, I think it was… Yes, that was it, but there were only four bodies when we were finished…" His piercing glare was looking at me again, his blade unmoving and tense in his grip. "The man told us to look for a woman with bright orange hair, and that's exactly what we saw moments after we killed the boy…"

My vision began to blur from tears of remembrance, of anger and fear. I was frozen in place even as he took another step forward.

"And yet… somehow, she escaped. A scrawny little girl… My pay was taken from me … Instead, the man who hired us told me I might as well be blind," His eyeless lid twitched as if trying to blink, "And that there was no point in wielding a sword if I could not take the life of someone so weak and defenseless." I saw his handless arm move up in the corner of my eye, but my gaze was locked with his.

"Ah, yes, four years… and here I thought she'd rotted away…"

My hands gripped the wood of the bench beneath me until my knuckles were white. My breath was shallow. My body trembled in fear. His face was now more familiar than any face I'd ever known. He raised his sword so that it was only inches from my cheek.

"Raise your mask…" he hissed, "I want to see that face of yours… see how much it truly reminds me of that _cagna._"

I didn't move. My body was completely awake now, but refused to do anything but watch as his sword slowly moved forward. Run. I had to run…! My legs shivered as if understanding my thoughts, but refused. The only thing I could hear was my heart thumping loudly in my ears, my vision contorting with each beat. I wasn't even sure if I was still breathing. The world had stopped around the two of us.

"Raise it... Raise it or I'll do it myself." He growled, and I could feel the prick of the sword's sharp tip against my cheek before it even met flesh. I tried to speak, but my voice failed me. There was nothing.

A trickle of blood rolled down to my chin…

The blade was gone.

My eyes readjusted to the world around me as I heard the clatter of his sword against the ground. As the blur disappeared, the horror began.

His left eye socket, which just moments before had been hollow, was now filled. Blood poured from its corners and down his face, a throwing knife lodged deep into the space and piercing straight into his cranium. He took a step back, fell, and was dead before he hit the ground. His companions and myself stared in complete repulsion, the screams of civilians little more than distant echoes.

"Hey, _stronzi!_" I turned before the guards could respond, knowing the voice immediately. My heart stopped, and I could feel the blood drain from my face.

He stood about ten meters away, and even from that distance I could see his jaw was clenched in frustration. He held a few throwing knives in his hands, and my eyes became wide as I made all of the connections. He threw the extra knives to the ground and took a few quick steps forward, and with swift motions, he removed his mask and cowl.

"You were looking for an assassin, weren't you? Well, here he is! Ezio Auditore, at your service!"

Nothing. There was nothing. Nothing but _him_, standing there, a complete stranger. The world became black as my eyes refused reality... Or illusion? What was real? Was _he _real? Who was he?

His defensive stance slowly dissipated, the movement so unnatural that I realized it was not him, but my mind that was warping the world into a slowness that I did not think possible. It took an eternity for his shoulders to relax and his arms to fall calmly to his sides, and it was only then that I recognized him. _This_ was what I'd known for those past few weeks. There was no killing intent in _this_ man. No. Not in the slightest. He was…

I caught his gaze.

In reality, his eternal stare must have been a glance, but a glance was enough to tear me to shreds. I could not see the color of his eyes from the distance between us, but the message that they sent me was one that I could have read whether he was right in front of me or a simple speck in the horizon. They put his thoughts into soundless words that were as clear to me as if he'd spoken them for the world to hear.

_I'm sorry._

The moment was broken so suddenly that reality rushed over me like a waterfall. An archer had taken his moment of vulnerability to shoot an arrow. He grimaced and let out a groan of pain as it cut deep into his right arm just below his shoulder, blood seeping into his clothes within moments of the impact. Thieves ambushed the rooftops before another arrow could be shot. I saw this from the corner of my eye as _he_ grinded his teeth and pulled the sharp tip from his flesh and threw it to the ground. He looked at me once more, and before I could make words from his gaze, he was off, a hoard of guards chasing just meters behind.

Everything I knew—Everything I _thought_ I knew—was crushed beneath his feet.

0ooooooooooooooooooooo0

**A/U: **Duhnuhnuuuuuuh.

Okay, so hopefully someone enjoyed this, and is excited for the next chapter (Possibly for the death of Lucrezia, but whatever floats your boat.)

I would have probably submitted this a bit earlier, but I had exams, and… um… I was busy finishing AC2 for the fifth time… (Did anyone get the Add-On, Battle Of Forli? Caterina's awesome! I read the novel and the whole sequence was in it, including the next one coming out at the end of this month, but it was still fun to play through it.)

So anyway, I'll be updating as soon as possible, and if I don't get the next chapter up before then, Happy Valentine's Day~

Constructive Criticism is always appreciated~


	5. Bloodshed

**A/U: **HOLYCRAP this is finally done. I think I died halfway through writing this x-x

To be honest, I wrote the first page or so and kind of left it sitting in my documents to rot for a while, and then I got sick, and for some reason sickness inspires me to write… or just clogs my mind to the fact that this chapter became SAPPY/MUSHY. GAH.

Okay, I don't think I'll say much more, since this damn thing is 16 pages on Word already. Damn me and underestimating the length of each chapter D:

(On a side note, I suggest you reread the Prologue and recall that Lucrezia means "Wealthy", because it has a small bit of importance at the end.)

**Warning: **There is so much retarded drama/sappiness in this chapter that I'm actually putting a warning. That's how scared I am for the well-being of all who read this. (It could just be my non-existent ego talking, but I'm playing it safe)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Assassin's Creed franchise. If I did, well… it probably wouldn't be that awesome…

0ooooooooooooooooo0

Every turn, every street, every color, every sound… _everything _was a blur as I ran. My mind was blinded with thought, a part of it frantic and terrified, and the other part, though small and almost unconscious, willing me forward to my objective.

Only moments ago, I'd been sitting on that bench, dumbfounded and shattered, nothing but darkness enveloping my senses, as if Satan himself had blocked out the moon. It must have been only for a few seconds that I'd sat there before the thief intercepted my blank stare. Light suddenly came rushing back, and our eyes locked like magnets, the bloody dagger in her hand not even registering in my thoughts. Her irises seemed icier than before. They commanded my attention, and I allowed them to do so, as they were the only things keeping me from passing out. Her gaze was hard, but there was a hint of something else behind her calm demeanor… Fear? It was very subtle… and I could tell that she was not afraid for herself… but for…

The message finally got through.

_Run. Do something._

Then, she was gone.

And that's what I did. I ran, frantic, but with a purpose, stripping myself of the heavy red dress in an attempt to quicken my pace. I chose what I was going to do before deciding whether I wanted to do so or not. I was going to help.

I wasn't sure how long it took me to spot a doctor. The man was tired, but alert, probably woken by the screams of civilians as they headed the opposite direction of the carnival. The thought didn't linger very long as I screamed in his direction, capturing his attention. I shouted the medicines and items I needed as I made my way closer. He was startled by my haste, but was able to retrieve the items from his stand and hand everything to me just as I stopped before him and placed my second money pouch on his stand. Herbs, ointments, bandages and cloths were shoved into my arms in a chaotic sort of neatness, and I was off before the doctor could get a single syllable across his lips.

My mind shut down, its only use being to avoid people as I sprinted through alleys and streets. It was my feet that guided me, programmed over the weeks to know exactly where home was, no matter how far I was—They just _knew_.

I tumbled through the front window of the abandoned library and crashed through the door that led inside with my back. Without so much as a pause, I turned to the right, not giving a moment's thought to the fact that the door had been left open. Everything in my arms came crashing down onto the bedside table. I looked about for a moment, and was relieved to see two buckets of water sitting neglected in the corner of the room. I brought them over, and with shaking hands corrected everything I'd dropped, putting it all in an order that wouldn't confuse me in my panicked state.

And I sat.

Everything was quiet. Everything. Just the sound of my breathing kept the room from complete silence, and even that disappeared once I was able to calm down. Nothing was outside, not even the call of birds or silent chattering of people. No wind disturbed the lanterns of houses or the dusty books in the library. Even the water of a canal nearby had stilled.

Complete… silence…

I broke.

Thirty nerve-wracking minutes had passed, no sign of his return. I slipped off the edge of the bed and crumpled to the floor, hair covering my face haphazardly as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I wasn't even sure why I suddenly felt so helpless. Two reasons rang through my mind.

He was dead. I was sure of it. There had been so many guards, there was no way he could fight them off with no weapons. A slight turn of my head to look at the tarp I'd seen earlier that night confirmed that he wasn't armed. The beautiful surface of his sword glinted in silent mocking.

The second reason was the more likely of the two.

He was an assassin. An _assassin._ He _killed_ for a living. I was absolutely against killing, especially after what I'd witnessed four years ago. I knew how it felt to lose a loved one so brutally. And yet he did it _every day._

Why in hell was I still trying to help him?

I absolutely hated him, and yet there I was, in the library, waiting patiently for his return.

Everything began to click. The 'wine' on his coat, his refusal to remove his hood, his absence at night, not allowing me into the room without warning… it was all to hide who he was. I couldn't blame him for not announcing this. It was obvious he didn't trust me, a woman he hardly ever saw anyway. I was, if anything, an enemy, ready to call him out as soon as he hinted at his secret.

The thought struck me with a foreign sense of misery. _He didn't trust me…_ Why did I care? Did I really care whether or not he lived? Or was it just a misplaced sense of communication that kept me tied to him?

Another pang of sorrow caused my body to shake and tears to gloss over my eyes. It didn't matter whether I cared for him or his company. He was dead.

I was alone again…

And suddenly, I wasn't.

"_Pezzo di merda!"_

The wicked words of his tongue rang through me like angels singing in an immaculate chorus.

I was on my feet faster than I thought I was capable, the thumping and dragging of approaching boots like an awkward heartbeat. I relished in the sound. "Ezio!" I said. It was as though I'd been speaking his name my whole life. His form suddenly engulfed the expanse of the doorway.

Red.

It was the first and only color my eyes could see. His hand gripped his shoulder painfully as red dripped through his fingertips from the arrow wound. Gashes decorated his body, cutting through his clothes and into his skin haphazardly and in every direction, crimson distorting the tomato red stripes of his cloak as it crawled across the fabric. Red trickled down his temple from beneath his hood. He looked absolutely exhausted and on the brink of an everlasting slumber, and yet he stood there, rooted to his spot, gazing at me from under his cowl as if he'd said something wrong and was waiting nervously for my reaction.

Was it… guilt? Guilt for keeping his secret hidden from me? Or was it something completely different?

My heart beat erratically to my mixed thoughts, and he waited, ever so patiently, for my response to his return, his blood dripping like a clock, counting down to his last breath.

I hated him. Every word, every action, every smirk… and yet… and yet I didn't. Each time I told myself that I despised him, something pushed the thought away. I felt _sick_ whenever anger boiled within me—sick in a tired way, as if my mind couldn't handle holding negative emotions against him.

I felt it again as I saw him waver and his foot move forward to catch himself. I couldn't take it. I couldn't just stand there while he bled to death just a few feet away. Every despising memory was suddenly forgotten, and I stepped forward to help him.

"You need to take your cloak off." I stated frantically as I removed his cowl and kept him from falling. He swore as my hand accidentally put pressure on a fresh wound. Despite his weakness, I saw him give me a nervous expression from the corner of my eye while I looked about his cloak trying to find out how to remove it.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered. I rolled my eyes. Even while bleeding to death, his thoughts roamed.

"I need to clean your wounds, _idiota._" I hissed. He grumbled in protest, but began to remove his arm braces. As I watched, my eyes caught the details of the strange armlets. Something glinted on the inside of his wrist from the candlelight, and I froze.

A… hidden blade… No, _two_. Both were covered in blood. I doubted it was his.

For a moment, the memories came back, his words at the Carnevale finally becoming reality. I felt myself shaking slightly as he removed his dented armor, the sound of metal hitting floor muffled in my ears. As quickly as acceptance had appeared, it was gone.

_This is a dream. A nightmare that I can't wake from unless I play along._

I took this thought as truth and forced myself to focus just as the last piece of armor fell to the floor. He scowled slightly as he tried unbuttoning the front of his cloak, but his right hand refused to move as he wanted from the lack of blood in his injured arm. I bit my lip, moving forward and slapping his hand away before I understood what I was doing.

I had never felt blood against my fingers. It was strange. The substance was smooth, but after a moment, it was rough and adhesive, almost like a red paste. My fingertips stuck together slightly as I fumbled with the cloth. A realization came to me. If blood could do that to my fingers…

I saw him cringe as I undid the last button, his cloak trying to hang open but the dried crimson liquid kept it pressed against his skin, stretching his wounds painfully. Fresh blood trickling down through the irritated gashes made me more frantic than I already was. His heavy breathing hitched at the feel of my hand peeling the material from his skin. I cooed softly to him, hoping to calm him as I carefully slid both layers of his clothing from his left arm, and even more so as I did the same with his right, my ears picking up the sound of his teeth grinding from the pain of the arrow wound. His cloak and shirt fell to the floor. He stumbled over to the bed, sitting on the edge by the buckets of water without me having to tell him.

It was only then that I could see the true extent of blood that had poured from the wounds that were hidden under a drape of crimson. It covered his sculpted chest and stomach to the point that I could barely make out the color of his skin. Though, it was obvious why women might chase him and why he flirted shamelessly with them, despite all of the gore. He was beautiful, but I did not see it in the same sense as those who lusted for him. If, at that moment, he were a painting, he would have been a masterpiece, the canvas torn through by knives, the picture intact but on the verge of collapsing on itself. The sight chilled me to the bone, and my instincts as a tailor came rushing back, wanting to repair the piece that had been ripped apart.

Hurriedly but carefully, I sat down next to him, took a cloth from the pile sitting on the bedside table, soaked it in the bucket and began washing his stained skin. He let out a string of swears under his breath each time the cloth ran over a particularly irritated wound, which, I realized after washing out the cloth a couple times in a few minutes, wasn't many. It was clear that the most significant wound was that on his right shoulder. The rest were grazes and small cuts, far from the huge gashes I thought they'd been. The rips in his cloak had deceived me, as it was clear that the blades had cut through the fabric but had hardly been able to touch his skin. Even the scrape on his forehead was hardly noticeable. The largest gash I could find was one on his back, slicing diagonally across the bottom of his right shoulder blade and ending just before having contact with his spine. The cut was about the length from my wrist to my middle finger. The assailant must have been quick, and the cause looked to be a dagger. I supposed that the reason for his weakness was the fact that he'd been running about for half an hour, which had allowed more blood to seep through.

After four cloths and a plethora of curses on his part, I moved the bucket of reddened liquid aside and took a fresh rag to dry his wounds, the little bit of blood that still escaped his injuries mixing with water droplets as they trickled through them. His breathing was beginning to steady, which was a calming thought, even though it would pick up again. I threw the dampened cloth to the side and took another fresh one, this time dabbing it with a liquid disinfectant. Before using the cloth, I grabbed a small block of wood I'd picked up on the way back and forced it between his teeth.

"Just incase you bite through your lip." I explained, but he spit it out anyway.

"I don't need it." He hissed, and I noticed silently that his tone was no longer weak. I pursed my lips and waited a moment to give him warning. When he didn't respond, I placed the dampened cloth against his shoulder wound. He yelped from the burning sensation, unable to hold back the pain for a moment before biting down on his lip and reducing his cry to a low growl in his throat. I rolled my eyes at his pride.

The process was quick despite his twitches of pain, and to finish off I put a spot of anesthetic on the dry side of the cloth to rub gently against his right shoulder. The gashes and cuts were red with blood that refused to leak through onto his skin, and his breathing was calm again. I let my hands fall to my lap as I stared at the ground and he stared at the wall directly in front of him. We didn't have anything to say. It was, as far as I could recall, the first awkward moment we'd ever shared in the past few weeks. The silence was deafening.

Minutes passed before I felt a knot in my stomach. The lump made its way slowly up through my throat, feeling much like I was about to expel my innards onto the floor, but at the same time the lump felt intangible. I felt it reach my tongue, then my teeth, and finally my lips. It forced them apart, and I released the words both of us had expected since he'd walked through the door.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw him stiffen for a moment in surprise, but quickly relax. The room was silent again. I waited intently for his answer, but none came. After a minute or two, I spoke.

"Was it because you did not trust me…?" I offered. He cringed as if I'd caused him pain, but he sighed, realizing that it would become more awkward if he did not speak.

"At first… yes…" he mumbled, pausing to wonder how he should continue, "And then because I…" he paused again to sigh, but I could not tell whether it was from frustration or sadness, "… I did not want to be judged."

I looked up at him then, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I could understand what being an assassin entailed. People are instinctively afraid, even if the assassin is no threat to them, and if someone happens to be their ally, they are still labeled as that of a killer. No communication can be held without the mention of their occupation, if any friendly conversation can be held at all. The difference between an ally and a friend is immense, and, I supposed, an assassin did not have the luxury of the latter. Then…

"Then why did you become an assassin?" I muttered more to myself than him. I realized the error of my words, as the topic was probably a personal one, but I watched him anyway, seeing how he would react. His form suddenly drooped, and through the tightness of his jaw I could tell his teeth were clenched in some sort of psychological pain. He looked up at me after a few seconds. I had to blink.

I hadn't had the chance through that time of chaos to take a good look at his face. The shape of it was strong but smooth; more defined than when I'd only been able to see up to his nose. Small locks of russet-colored hair frayed gently at his temples, the rest pulled back in a loose ponytail. I did not catch a glimpse of his eyes as the obvious crimson leaking from the left side of his bitten lip caught my gaze.

My instinct took over again as I reached automatically for the last fresh cloth that lay on the bedside table, grumbling as I moved closer to dab at his stained lip. "_This _is exactly why you shouldn't have spit that out, _idiota._" I mumbled. He did not move despite the sudden change in topic, or reply to my complaints. As I dabbed at the blood, I placed my free hand against his cheek to steady myself. My thumb accidentally brushed his scar as I finished. I froze, and he knew exactly why. I moved my hand to have a better look at the mark, and I could tell he was studying me closely.

I'd seen that mark for weeks, and yet it was only now that I truly felt captured by it. It was as if this simple flaw held a code to who this man truly was. A silent determination swelled through me, my eyes refusing to look away from it until it found the answer. Then, he spoke.

"That scar," he began softly, my eyes still glued in its place, "was given to me by one of the men responsible for the destruction of my family." He paused long enough for me to comprehend what he'd just said. I felt my heart leap into my throat. He continued, even softer.

"_That man died six years ago_."

He did not have to go on for me to understand. A word ran through me without hesitation.

_Wrath._

Wait… was I not the same? Did I not hate the guards and rich people of the world, to the point that I wished ill upon them? Even death? Even, sometimes… by my own hand? The thought sent a shiver of comprehension down my spine, and I could not help but stare mindlessly at his scar, my vision slowly blurring from an unknown source.

"Lucrezia…?" My own name from his lips snapped me back into reality, and without realizing it, I was looking into his eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. For a second, I couldn't understand why he'd ended my name with something like a question. His hand suddenly moved to my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin to swipe at something that fell from my eye. It was then that I realized what was happening.

I was crying.

A single tear had fallen down my cheek, and as I blinked to clear my vision, more followed. I did not feel the need for my breathing to hitch or to sob. There were just tears, falling from my eyes as they gazed intently into his.

His expression suddenly turned from confusion to understanding, his brows relaxing and his eyes softening. His eyes, now that I could see them, were almost bronze in color, but they looked almost… tainted. Small shrouds of black were slowly engulfing the once pure light brown of his irises. His actions… his new life… were slowly taking over what little was left of his innocence.

No words were spoken. We just understood. Understood exactly what each had gone through. And I learned what I had been blind to since he'd fallen from the heavens. We both had lost what was most precious to us. We both, in one way or another, were alone. We were trapped. Two lonely souls brought together by some stroke of luck, or even fate. And, I realized as I was slowly engulfed by the darkness in his eyes…

We were both the same.

---------------

I woke.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain against the flat roof of the library sounded like a thunderstorm as I grumbled to the resounding headache that struck me so suddenly that I had to lie back down after trying to sit up. I tried peaking through my eyelids, but immediately shut them tight, as even the tiny glow of candlelight was enough to strain my eyes. I gave myself a moment, sighed, and tried remembering exactly what had happened the night before to leave me in such a state.

The memories that flooded my mind were vague. Something about going to the Carnevale… a guard trying to hurt me… and then…

My eyes shot open despite the glare.

_It was a dream, as I'd suspected… All of it was a dream…_

I pulled the familiar quilt over my head and grumbled to myself, wondering why my mind would muster up such a nightmare. I'd hardly dreamt in the passed year or two, but when I did it was a jumble of things that did not fit together. Yet this dream had _form _to it… it made _sense_…

I twitched slightly as I heard the creak of the door, but calmed to the sound of familiar heavy footsteps. I knew it was _him_. Once or twice during the past few weeks I'd caught him entering my room to place a few florin on the desk by the door, though he would leave only seconds later. I did not look up from the quilt I'd cocooned myself into, but furrowed my brow in annoyance as I sensed him lingering.

"_Go away…_" I grumbled to alert him of the fact that I was awake. He chuckled at my tone.

_"Buongiorno, bella,_" he said with amusement in his tone, which I took as sarcasm, "You are not feeling well…?" I wasn't sure if this was a question or a statement, as if he knew what was wrong, but I continued.

"I had the wildest dream last night." I explained. I didn't feel as though this topic needed any further delving, but he chuckled. My brows furrowed again in confusion. His chuckle did not sound like he was waving the subject off. Rather, it was like he was about to add to it. Curiously, I moved the quilt down to look at him. He had his back turned to me, and as he came more into focus, my face paled.

His hood was down. His loose ponytail was hidden partially beneath his cloak, the hair itself a russet-color. The same as in my dream… More things came into focus, and as they did, I felt all the blood retreat from my face. My tongue was dry. My headache became distant.

_This_ was not my room.

_This _was not my bed.

He turned slowly, a devious grin playing on his scarred lip.

"_Wild_, wasn't it?"

For a moment, I could only stare, dumbfounded and gaping as his grin widened, waiting for my reaction. Then, I collapsed, a half-hearted wail of agony escaping my lips as the memories from yesterday came rushing back.

The Carnevale, the drinks (Which explained the searing headache), the chaos… his blood… everything came back in detail, but my mind went blank after that moment where our eyes locked in some sort of strange… _acceptance_. I was somewhat drunk, so it must have been…

I shot up suddenly in anger, eyes flaring into his expression of surprise.

"You took advantage of me!?" I hissed, pointing daggers with my gaze. He raised an eyebrow.

"Took advantage of you? You seemed quite the opposite last night." He retorted. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the closest thing my hand could get, whipping it at his face. Unfortunately, I learned at that moment, a pillow cannot harm an assassin. It bounced uselessly off his face and fell to the floor. His grin had turned into a mock pout. "Hey, it's not my fault that you started it!"

"You think that I'd do that if I was sane!?"

"Well…" he mulled it over for a moment before another pillow distracted his thoughts. I curled up under the quilt again in a hopeless effort that this was a dream in a dream, and I would wake up in the other room of the library to go about my daily routine, like every day…

A weight suddenly forced the quilt against me more than it already was. I strained myself to see what it was but made sure not to make eye contact with him. My kirtle was sprawled across the bed without care, bringing me to the fact that the only thing I currently had on was my chemise.

"Put it on." He sighed. The underlying tone of grief forced me to look up at him. He was standing as if he hadn't moved, but his head was turned away to stare intently at what seemed to be an interesting spec of dust. Had something just… happened? I was too confused and tired to mull it over, instead choosing to slip the kirtle under the quilt and struggle to put it on. After a few minutes, I emerged from the quilt, standing and adjusting the fabric in places that it wrinkled or folded in on itself. It was only then that I'd given the kirtle a second glance.

The material, once a tarnished off-white color, now almost shone in the gentle candlelight. It was so white that I was tempted to ask him if this was a completely new kirtle, though the design and fit of it made it obvious.

"Here." I let out a small sound of surprise as I looked up to see his face. He'd taken a few steps closer to me, but his steps had been so quiet that I hadn't noticed, despite his clunky boots. It took me a moment to realize that his hand was outstretched, something resting in his palm. When my eyes settled on it, my heart leaped.

"I know you hate it when I touch your hair," He grinned sadly, "so I bought this at the Carnevale. Impulse, I suppose. I was going to give it to you yesterday, but… well…" he drifted off, but I understood what he was trying to say. I could not react to what I was seeing. All my body permitted was to stare in disbelief, as if what I was seeing was an illusion. An emotion bubbled through me, but I couldn't tell what it was.

My hairpin. I'd thought that I'd never see it again. No, I _knew…_ and yet there it was, the rubies scattered across its golden surface glistening in silent mocking, as if saying, _"We were waiting for you."_

My mouth opened to say something, but closed again, words refusing to form. I didn't know what to say. Instead, my hand reached out to take it. My fingers refused to close around it, instead gliding across its surface, memorizing it once again. I saw his eyebrow raise in wonder. He did not understand what this object was. How important it was…

"Here," he said, his hand retracting as he took a step closer, my heart screaming as the pin disappeared from my sight, "Let me." I felt his hand brush against my face, and I had to restrain myself from slapping it away. The roots of my hair suddenly tightened, a familiar weight resting against the back of my skull. I blinked a couple times to keep tears from falling.

His hands moved from the pin, but instead of taking them completely away, they rested against my cheeks. It was then that I realized how close his face was. I looked at him, the darkness of his irises boring into me as they had last night. His face did not move away or get closer. He just stared, a sickness in his eyes much like that of a helpless animal. It clicked then. He was waiting for permission.

"No." I whispered without moving. His hands felt rigid for a moment against my skin, and then they were gone, falling to his sides as he took a few steps away. My gaze fell to the floor. We stood there for what seemed like eternity.

"I'm leaving." He muttered. The words felt like a dagger placed against my throat. "After what happened at Carnevale, they will be searching this place, since it is in the Dorsoduro." I felt my knees weaken, threatening to give out under me. "I would suggest you leave as well," there was hope in his words… "But you do not need to follow me…" … And then they were gone. My eyes refused to move, to watch him as my ears picked up the sounds of his boots as they made their way to the door. My mouth refused to protest his motions, or even say goodbye. I was stuck.

"Lucrezia." I did not so much as flinch to my name. An eerie silence followed, and then, his final words.

"We didn't."

I finally looked up… but he was gone.

I didn't move. Every second that passed felt like minutes, and with each of those seconds, he moved further away, the beat of my heart clogging my thoughts as they contemplated my choices.

Would I follow him? Or head the other way? Going back to what I did before was not an unpleasant thought—Buying apples, working for money, surviving to find my place in life… and yet, I realized suddenly, what if _he_ was my place in life? The thought of never seeing him again, never talking to him… it brought a tugging feeling to my chest, something so foreign to me that it took me a moment to realize I did not like the feeling. The weight of the pin in my hair urged me forward, and yet my feet refused to take a step.

Was I really willing to be hurt again? Every time I had someone, they were taken away from me, as if it was my fate to be alone. And yet, as each second passed, it felt as though a string was being stretched between myself and him, which would pull me forward at some point, whether I wanted to or not.

Was I willing to be hurt again? Probably not, but, I realized after those ten seconds of deciding, I was willing to take a chance.

-------------

"You followed."

The statement was simple, but enough for me to know he'd sensed my presence without having to look. We walked in a crowd and looked forward as if not knowing each other, as any type of contact could single us out, particularly because of his notorious position. The gentle rain that had disappeared only minutes ago left the cobblestones of the streets in a glossy state, their surfaces shining brilliantly in the newly emerged sun. The brightness of its morning glare forced me to squint to keep my headache from clogging my thoughts.

"I needed answers." I muttered. He did not reply, so I continued after a minute or two, "Why did you tell me we did, when we did not?" The question seemed to make him stumble, and for the first time he was blatantly stumped, or, more likely, embarrassed by what the answer would be.

"W-well… We almost did." He replied, countering my inquiry. I sighed and waited a moment before proceeding, biting my lip as I spoke.

"So. You kissed me." I stated.

"Well, to be more accurate, it was the other way around…"

"But you stripped me of my gown."

"… Yyyyes, but…"

"So we did, did we not? I don't understand how…"

"I did remove it, but I stopped." His interruption made me blink a bit. It was then that I noticed our little conversation had dispersed bits of the crowd. I waited a moment before asking.

"… Why?"

"I stopped because you…" he stumbled again, and in complete obliviousness to the danger of his actions, glanced at me as if I would know the answer. I could not remember a thing, and he knew I couldn't, yet something kept him hoping that I would recall something. And, it seemed, not just anything. There was something specific that he wanted me to remember. His eyes turned back to the cobblestones in pure heartbreak, his whisper carried gently by the wind.

"You said you loved me."

It was my turn to stumble. Firstly, I could not imagine myself saying it to this man, especially one of which had lied to me. Secondly, he'd contradicted himself. Why would he have stopped when someone said those simple words? They were just an expression, a roll of the tongue, and yet…

It clicked. Empathy hit me like a storm.

Did _I_ not long for those words? To hear them _sincerely _after four years of being alone? They meant nothing to those who were constantly surrounded by their loved ones, words simply waved off into the wind. Oh, but how I wished to catch them, to hold those words as if they were meant for me… And what about him? Surely he had lost his family years before I had. How long had it been since he was embraced, that simple statement gracing his ears, meant entirely for _him_?

"I lied because I needed to know if…"

"I remembered, and if what I said was true." I finished for him. His mouth hung agape for a moment before snapping shut, our silence drawing the crowd closer again. My mind searched intently for the answer, to calm him and tell him that yes, I did, and he was not alone, and yet I wasn't sure of it myself. So I settled on an answer that would suit the both of us.

"In all honesty, I'm not sure what love is… and what I had before is long forgotten." I mumbled. His shoulders drooped a bit, but I continued, "But I am willing to try, possibly… just not in _that_ way."

Even from where I stood I could see a small smile tug at his lips. Suddenly, he slowed a bit, walking beside me as his grin turned into his mocking pout. "Are you sure? Dodging pillows in the morning can be quite a good warm-up…" I couldn't help but smirk at his sly humor, my hand pushing playfully against his arm in mock offense. We chuckled softly for a moment before we fell silent amongst the crowd.

This silence, I realized happily, was no longer awkward or unbearable. It was comforting. We walked, and there was no need to say anything. All unspoken words had been spoken. There was no weight on my shoulders. After four years I finally felt… _liberation_.

--------------

The moment we crossed from the Dorsoduro into the San Polo district was marked by the sudden disappearance of Carnevale ribbons and banners as we made our way across a bridge over a narrow canal. The guards scattered about the city seemed to become less interested in finding the assassin, probably due to the fact that he ripped 'wanted' posters from the walls every chance he could. That, coupled with leaving the confines of the district, was like a breath of relief.

It was only now, as we talked nonchalantly while making our way to some destination I had yet to be told of, that I noticed his cloak. The main color, once being white, was now a dark whine, accented with dark blue stripes that were before a vibrant red. I could see stitches and patches in the cloth, but I supposed it was only because my eyes were trained to see such mistakes in fabric. The pigment, while helping him blend with the Venetian crowds, was also an excellent covering.

_"Merda!"_ he swore moments after we crossed into the district, snapping me from my reverie, "This path is restricted, and there is no other way around without looking suspicious…" He contemplated our options even as we stepped onto the street. "Stay close." The gruff undertone of his voice signaled the seriousness of the situation.

I did not understand the reason for such alertness on this specific street, but complied anyway. A strange sense of familiarity struck me suddenly, as if… I'd been there before…

No words slipped from our mouths, and I knew well not to stop in such a place. Yet, as we were just about to turn the corner, an overwhelming force that I could not see compelled my feet to stop. He didn't notice. I looked about, wondering why my mind was screaming for me to see what was bringing up such an immense feeling of paranoia.

And then, there it was, right before me as if in a long-awaited reunion.

Even from where I stood I could see it had been left exactly as it was when I last saw it. Fabric hung from inside, books haphazardly strewn atop the front window's surface. The door was ajar as if someone would walk out at any moment to greet me…

To welcome me home…

Everything around me was blank as I watched and waited for Dante to leap into my arms happily, for Enrico to laugh and pat me on the back, for Mother to scold me for not bringing the materials she needed that day… and for Father to come home and tell everything was fine.

I did not hear the two guards standing by me whisper loudly to each other, nor scream for me to respond. I did not see them gasp as they realized I was the woman that their comrade died interrogating. The sound of their screams was like the wind, as was the stretch of a bow's string as an archer took aim.

"Lucrezia!" I finally heard, and looked to see his cloaked form charge through a crowd of civilians to get closer, panic encompassing every movement he made. "Move!_ Subito!"_ I did not understand the urgency in his tone. Instead, my eyes followed where his seemed to stare in horror. I turned, looked up, and then…

I was falling.

Blood trickled gently through the air as if in slow motion, mocking my brain as it tried to process where it had come from. Pain suddenly shot through my abdomen, and with it a realization that the blood was my own, seeping through the arrow that was lodged deep into my flesh.

The world blurred around me as I fell for what seemed like eternity. He wedged a throwing knife deep into the archer's skull and disposed of the other two guards with his hidden blades, following up with a swift movement to catch me just before I hit the ground. My head snapped backward from the momentum of my fall and the lack of support to my neck. Whiplash forced blood into my throat. I tried to cough it from my system, but I only succeeded in coating my tongue in the substance, the metallic taste further obscuring what sense I had left. I heard him vaguely calling my name, for me to stay awake, and his arm shook me gently as if I did not have enough to deal with already.

Was this happening…? Or was it all an illusion? A distorted flashback of what could have been my fate back then? It was so quick… Only moments ago had everything been well with the world. There was no worry or loneliness. There was no judgment. There was no reason to hate or to regret. And then this, so suddenly, as if… As if…

It suddenly clicked.

I came back to my senses, my abdomen almost completely numb of the pain. He was carrying me, the motion of him picking me up a complete void in my mind. As sound slowly began to register again, I recognized the words he screamed. He was calling for help, for a doctor or anyone who could be of aid. At first, his voice was determined. It slowly drifted into panic, and finally desperation. All within a few seconds.

Crimson trickled gently from the corner of my mouth as I tried to grin up at him, though he did not see, and finally, I spoke.

"Put me down."

He faltered, almost dropping me as he did, looking down and slightly slowing his pace. I was sure he could not hear what I'd said due to the gurgle of blood in my throat, so I let out a wet cough and repeated myself. His face paled.

"No, you need a doctor." He hissed, his pace quickening again.

"I don't need one… Put me down. _Please._" I muttered weakly, energy seeping from my body in equal amounts to the blood. He stumbled, sped up, and stumbled again. He wasn't sure what to do, but couldn't stop to think as I slowly rotted in his arms. There was no more pain. I felt numb.

He cursed under his breath as he escaped into a short alley that turned left into a dead end, placing me against the wall at the turn, which allowed me to view the street we'd come from. Even from here, with my burring vision, I could see the bloodspot where I once lay. And my home…

I saw them, waiting. Dante sat at the front window, his legs swinging from the edge, with Enrico behind him, his arm slung around the younger one's shoulders. Mother and Father stood in each other's arms. Smiles adorned their beautiful faces. They were all looking at me. A brilliant light encompassed them, beckoning me. I felt myself smiling back.

A slight touch to my almost numb shoulder made my eyes focus on the uncovered face of the assassin. He was searching my gaze for an answer, for what he should do as I lay dying before him, a person who had been laughing in complete bliss only moments before. An unspeakable despair glazed his irises. I grinned gently at him.

"Ezio." I managed to breathe. Hope suddenly filled his expression. I could sense the alertness in his form, and for a moment I could not speak. He cared so much for my survival, and yet…

"It's time for me to go."

My words sent a jolt through his body. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth opened to protest, but… he stopped. His jaw clenched together again, and his eyes drooped, looking away. He understood. I would not live in the state I was in, and even if I could, I would choose not to. He understood my intentions, and why would he not?

Ever since the day that he fell from the sky, it was obvious that my end was near. I'd hated him, and yet somehow come to enjoy his company, warping what I believed into something I thought I could never understand. He'd taught me the wrongs of my ways, and things that I needed to know. He was like a messenger from the heavens, to teach me what I was missing before God could accept me into his embrace.

He taught me that there was a balance to the world, that there could be no good without evil. They were two concepts of the same idea. They were two sides of the same coin. For what was good without evil? If there was no evil, would 'good' even exist? Would we recognize what 'good' was? This could be applied to anything. There could be no selflessness without selfishness, no humbleness without pride, no justice without revenge… and, the thing I now understood the most, there could be no love without hate.

My smile grew wider as I felt myself drifting, my blurred vision still focused on him. My chapped lips parted, and a wisp of air released the last words I would ever let loose into this world.

"I love you."

His head shot up with complete astonishment to my whisper. My head had fallen to the side, my neck lacking the strength to support it any further, and my gaze looking off into the distance. A small smile still graced my features. I could no longer focus as my eyelids drooped by themselves. His hand pressed gently just above my eyebrows, and the last thing I saw before his fingers drew my lids over my eyes was the light of my family engulfing me, embracing me lovingly in a warmth that gently carried me from consciousness. I drifted, slowly becoming less and less aware of the world, and as the last of my senses vanished, his voice carried gently through my ears, echoing into the afterlife. "You were not wealthy in this life, but in death, you are the wealthiest…

"_Requiescat in pace."_

0ooooooooooooooooooooo0

**A/U: **CONGRATULATIONS. YOU SURVIVED THE EYE-BURNING. -shot-

So? Good? Bad? Because I'm honestly not even sure anymore. I hope that, at the least, this wasn't a complete waste of your time :D; (I do not have any self-confidence whatsoever, hence the 'making-fun-of-myself-until-it-hurts')

Anyway, I'll possibly be posting a little extra thing in about a week just explaining the symbols, incase anyone is still wondering what some of them are.

Even if you didn't enjoy read, it means a lot that you took the time to. Critique is always accepted, but please, no flaming. If you don't OCs, I don't find any logic in why you are here. If you don't like MY OC specifically, please tell me how I can improve my character-building skills instead of just screaming how much you hate her. Thank you :D;

Again, it means a lot that you took the time to read! Any questions, just ask x333


	6. EXTRA

**A/U: **As promised, here is the extra chapter that explains the few symbols I slipped into the story~

I also added two extra scenes, NOT in Lucrezia's Point of View. Both are in third person and take place without actual interaction with Lucrezia. The first is through Ezio's POV, where he's called by Rosa at the Carnevale, and the second is through the point of view of the archer who killed Lucrezia. I felt that these scenes might be a bit confusing and random to some people, so they're mostly to clear a few things up.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Assassin's Creed.

0oooooooooooooooooooooo0

The eagle call sent a stiffness through the assassin, one that forced him into his momentarily forgotten life of misery and revenge. The feeling of his murderous instincts was something he'd finally accepted, but… after spending time at the Carnevale, dancing, drinking and cheering, the feeling of realizing his fate came rushing to him, much like that of the first year he adorned the cloak. He kept his intimidating demeanor as he walked, but under this disguise, he was suffering.

"What's happened?" he hissed as he entered the protective cover of the shadows. After a moment of no reply, he shot a glare at the 'thief-ette' who'd dared to bother him on such a night. He usually enjoyed the raven-haired girl's company, her icy eyes capturing his attention whether she was making playful intimate suggestions or swearing like a sailor. "Did Antonio need something?" he offered finally. She rolled her eyes.

"No, but it looks like _you_ need some common sense, _schemo_. Your ignorance has notified guards of your presence, and now more of them are walking around. How are thieves supposed to do anything with so many people watching?" she spat before letting out a string of swears. The gaggle of thieves that stood a few meters away chuckled lightly at her short temper.

"Guards?" Ezio muttered in confusion, looking around the corner instinctively to look about his surroundings. Sure enough, about six groups of guards walked about the partygoers, stopping every few moments to ask someone a few questions. A nervousness bubbled in his throat, and he suddenly found his eyes gazing at the auburn-haired woman sitting on a bench across the carnival square. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her attempt to stay awake.

"Who is she?" The thief girl's voice startled him slightly, but he managed to hide his surprise, instead looking at her with confusion.

"What? Who?" He asked dumbly. She smirked at him before cocking her head in the direction of his drunken companion.

"That _puttana_ over there. I saw you talking to her." She grinned. He could hear her playful tone behind her words, but his mind was deciding not to cooperate.

"M… My next conquest." He lied. He cursed himself mentally for stuttering, but her grin only became wider, obviously misunderstanding his hesitation.

"Oh? Did you think you would hurt me by saying I wasn't your next one?" she joked, taking a step closer provocatively, "Don't worry, I don't mind being second…"

Normally, he would play along with her little game, but something invisible tugged at his chest, and before he knew what he was doing, he took a step back. The raven-haired girl blinked at him in confusion, obviously hurt by his rejection. He sighed, realizing his mistake.

"Rosa…" he began, but was cut off by the loud gasps and a scream on the other side of a square. His eyes shot up, and immediately, his blood went cold.

He could see her through the gaps between the people, staring in complete horror and shock at something obscured. He took a step to the side and his eyes met with what had left her in such a state. A guard, his eye missing and his right arm nothing but a stub, had his sword drawn, inching ever so slowly towards her face as he mouthed threatening words. This, clearly, was not a scolding. The guard's movements were rigid and held back, obviously wanting to impale her face with his blade at that instant.

His feet were moving before he told them to, the plan of diversion already locked into his brain. He heard Rosa yell swears at him before ordering her thief companions to scout the roofs for archers. His hands were numb as he pushed people aside with one and extracted a throwing knife from his belt with the other. He threw it, and chaos began.

The assassin didn't understand why he cared. She was a woman who didn't understand any bit of what he was, and acted annoyed every time he threw a grin at her… and yet he felt like she knew everything. Not his past, not his murderous nature… but _him-_Not what made him, but him as a person. Not a picture, not an idea, but a living being that deserved to be understood.

She understood what he was on the inside, and, he decided as he reached up for his mask, she would need to know what he was on the outside.

* * *

The archer glared down at the civilians from his spot on a low roof, scrutinizing every movement they made as he drummed his fingers against the arc of his bow.

The street had been restricted since early morning on his orders, due to the events of the Carnevale. Though, the appearance of the assassin was not what he'd ordered the alertness for. It was the woman. A guard, one missing an eye and an arm, had reportedly threatened a young auburn-haired lady, somehow luring their primary target out from the shadows, who promptly sent a knife into the guard's socket and into an immediate death.

That guard was his younger brother.

The archer remembered that moment four years ago, when he'd waltzed through the door with bloody bandages wrapped around his left eye and the stub that was left of his right arm. The recovery was long and painful, but as soon as he was permitted to leave his home, he was on the job with an eagerness that was almost disturbing. They saw each other often, seeing as they worked in the same district. With him on the roof and his brother working below, it was much easier to spot him and keep watch. He always knew where to find him.

It was that same street where he'd failed a mission that had cost him his sanity. He took every chance to patrol that street, even sacrificing his breaks and taking extra shifts. Even when he wasn't on the job, he went on and on about how he would find that woman that had caused him so much torment. Each time he did so, his eyebags darkened under his twitching gaze, his knee tapping or his fingers clutching unconsciously to his stub of an arm. Every day, despite his beliefs, his brother's insanity became worse instead of better. Whenever he showed signs of doubt, he would become angry with himself, and would suddenly leave to take an extra shift, even if it was an ungodly time in the morning.

Revenge had become such an essential part of him that he began to forget who his older brother was, which upset the archer greatly, as he'd been taking care of him since that fateful day. He was so obsessed with getting vengeance for the dullness his life had become due to his handicap, that he had no life left to spare.

And then, he found her. And he was killed. He was released from his hatred and into a place where hatred could not exist, and the archer felt somewhat happy for him.

And yet… he didn't. The thought of his brother finally finding that woman that had caused him so much torment… and then being killed before he could take her life… What if he'd been able to kill her and lived? He could have gone back to normal. He could have been the happy-go-lucky guy he'd known since he was four. He… could have been his _brother _again…

The archer's hand clenched tightly around the bow at the thought, almost snapping it. He couldn't let all of his emotions take over right then. He had taken over his brother's duty, and taken it a step further. If his brother had believed the woman would appear on this street, then he would search as well, along with placing all guards on alert on the street. He had never understood how vengeance could take over a person's mind so entirely, but… at that point, he did.

He opened his eyes that had unconsciously shut, and was met with a shock of orange below him. He looked over the edge, spotting a girl standing uselessly in the middle of the street. Though he could not see her face, it was obvious by her rigid stance that her eyes were focused on something.

His heart leaped suddenly with recognition. His brother had mentioned orange hair…

The guards below him began shouting at her for her attention, but she did not budge, as if she were deaf. Curiously, one of them stepped closer, inspecting her suspicious behaviour. Even from here, the archer could see his face grow pale.

"_C-Comandante!_" The guard shouted at the archer, "It's _her!_"

He did not need to go on for the archer to understand. The guards respected his need for revenge, keeping their blades sheathed so their captain could take her life. He placed an arrow fueled with his fury onto the bow, stretching the string, and taking aim. He heard the vague words of a man calling to the woman to move, but instead, she looked straight at him, a look of confusion on her face. He grit his teeth at the cause of his brother's insanity, and let the arrow fly, hitting her in the abdomen. A smirk grew across his face. She would have a slow death.

_That was for my brother, stronza._

And everything went black.

* * *

**Symbols:**

**Ezio:** As mentioned before, he represents two things

-Angel or God's Messenger. This was slightly explained at the end, so there is no need to go into depth.

-Lucrezia's "shadow" (If you've read Wizard of Earthsea, you should know what this means). Ezio is everything dark about Lucrezia's conscience that she refuses to accept. So, while he seems completely different, he is the same, or a _part_ of her. By accepted him (ie. Healing him/almost sleeping him/following him), she has accepted the dark parts of herself, allowing her conscience to be free of regret or stress. In a while, she has become pure and whole, spiritually.

**Lucrezia's Hairpin:** Her family (This was hinted a bit in chapter 1). When she sells the pin two years after the tragedy, she is letting go of her ties to her family, and has therefore finally accepted life without them. When Ezio gives her the pin again, it foreshadows her fate (Meeting with her family/death).

**Lucrezia undergown or kirtle/carnival dress:** This one is rather vague. The kirtle, in the beginning, was scarlet/crimson. When thinking of this color in a bad way, the thought of blood/slaughter/pain comes to mind, but this can also extend to hell. When the kirtle wasn't faded (Completely red), it's foreshadowing something horrible about to happen (At the beginning, it foreshadows the death of her family. When it's the carnival dress that's red, it foreshadows the chaos that occurs at the Carnevale, where Ezio removes his mask and hood). Four years after the death of her family, Lucrezia's undergown is a tarnished white, with a bit of red still fading at the bottom. This is supposed to symbolize her "stepping into hell", the red supposed to look as though she stepped into a puddle of blood. Her eyes have opened to the suffering around her, and it is only after she begins to suffer that she can truly understand it. At the end, when her kirtle is a clean white color, she "pure."

**A/U: **Hope you guys enjoyed it! And if anyone is confused with any parts of the fanfic, I might just try and type up a scene in another person's POV and add it here~


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